


Lies, Damned Lies, and Fake Dating

by vivianblakesunrisebay



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Also lots of David and Alexis on this one, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, David Rose is a Good Person, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hand Jobs, Horseback Riding, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Only One Bed, Pining, alexis being the badass we all know she is, pool parties, reference past abusive relationship, wet david, wet patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianblakesunrisebay/pseuds/vivianblakesunrisebay
Summary: After having to bail out his sister (again!), David is short the twenty thousand dollars he needs to open Rose Apothecary. He and his business partner are off to the Hamptons for the weekend, trying to get the money back.And, they end up posing as fake fiancés. Yes, it’s a fake dating AU!
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 350
Kudos: 533





	1. Rose Ap

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas, Likerealpeopledo and missgeevious! Also to my friend barelypink for the constant support and encouragement.
> 
> This work is almost done, and I'll be updating once or twice a week!

David locked the door and paused to look up at the gold letters on the front of the building. Rose Ap, it said. He’d sent the workmen home. He had no money to pay them.

His eyes dropped to look inside the store, to the empty shelves and the full boxes, to the electrical socket with wires trailing out of it, waiting to power the antique light fixture he’d been looking for.

He didn’t know if the stuff in the boxes would ever be sold, if the light fixture would ever be installed, if Rose Ap would ever be Rose Apothecary.

But there was one thing he did know, one thing he was absolutely sure of: this was all Alexis’s fault.

*

It had been a long time since he had gotten one of the patented Alexis middle-of-the night phone calls. When Alexis was a teenager, they’d come pretty frequently, and David became very adept at wiring money and sending fake passports, wrangling lawyers out of bed, sweet talking border guards and embassy staff. He developed a system and a strategy for who to call, what to say, how much money to throw at them. He kept an “Alexis bag” stored in the back of his closet, with fake passports and visas, burner phones, antibiotics and painkillers, hats, wigs and colored contact lenses, all stocked and ready to go at a moment’s notice.

By the time Alexis hit her twenties, though, the script had somehow flipped. Somehow, it was now Alexis who was known for being good in a crisis, who could wriggle out of any number of sticky situations—and she did it with an effortless panache that he had never achieved. But she still liked to push the envelope, and sometimes she pushed it too far. So he kept his Alexis bag packed and ready, and his phone on his bedside table, ringer on and unsilenced, for those times when he was still needed.

Here, though, he had no Alexis bag, and until recently he’d had no money either. Luckily, no calls had come. Until this one.

He knew Alexis. He knew her guile and her nerve and her resourcefulness, so if she said she needed twenty thousand dollars, she really needed twenty thousand dollars. So what choice did he have but to send it, even if it was all the money he had? There was no choice. 

At least, that’s how it had seemed at the time.

He got Stevie to drive him to Elmdale—he didn’t even have a fucking driver’s license, how the hell was he still the one anyone turned to for help?—and wired the money to the American embassy in Uzbekistan, and then spent three sleepless nights biting his nails, hearing nothing, until she texted him that she and Klair and Albany were back in New York, safe.

And if he’d cried a little, from the relief of it, he wasn’t going to tell her that.

But, none of this meant he didn’t plan to hold a grudge forever. Because he did, and he was.

Alexis had sworn up and down that Klair would get him the money back, that she was only waiting for her allowance from her trust fund, that he’d hardly know it was gone. Two days, she had said. Max.

But two days had gone by, and there was no money, and now two weeks had gone by, and there was still no money. Alexis kept putting him off, and then she’d stopped responding to his increasingly urgent text messages, or picking up when he called, and he’d left message after message until her mailbox was full.

Now, he had to face the fact that he might never get that money back. And he might never open his store. And he might never prove to his parents or anyone that he could successfully run a business. 

And, maybe, he couldn’t. Who was he kidding here, really? Would Patrick have sent twenty thousand dollars off into the unknown, would he have jeopardized their whole future, without even _exploring_ if other options were possible?

 _Patrick._ David had been putting off telling his business partner what happened, but he couldn’t put it off any longer.

His business partner. Who helped him with all the technical financial stuff that he had no clue about. Who installed accounting software and created pricing algorithms, and also painted and installed shelves and unpacked boxes with equal aplomb. Who teased David out of his moods and remembered his coffee order and made him feel like he could actually do this. Who David would be lost without. 

His business partner, who David had a hopeless, inappropriate crush on. Which he was getting over. Definitely. Any day now.

*

Patrick had worked at Ray’s today; he was still splitting his time between helping David and working for Ray, but he’d already given Ray notice. Could Patrick take his notice back? How did that work?

David pulled out his phone. He texted Patrick, _Need to talk to you,_ which was exactly the kind of text he hated to get, because it always meant bad news. But then, this was bad news. 

_I’m at my place,_ Patrick wrote back. _Come anytime._

So David walked to Ray’s, and Patrick flung the door open almost before David had a chance to knock. 

“Come on in,” he said.

Patrick insisted on making David a cup of tea. “You look like you could use one,” he said. David no doubt did not deserve this kindness, but he couldn’t resist letting it happen. He sat down at the table and watched Patrick bustle around Ray’s kitchen, making tea for him, and the warm feeling of being cared for was powerfully, dangerously seductive. He’d have to watch that.

He’d never had a crush on someone who was nice before. Perhaps the fact that he did now said something encouraging about David’s personal growth and level of maturity. Because what was even stranger was that Patrick’s niceness was one the _reasons_ David had a crush on him; David had always thought _nice_ was more of an absence of something than a positive trait, a generic word to describe people who were weak and bland and uninteresting. But Patrick wasn’t bland or uninteresting, and he definitely wasn’t weak. His whole persona projected quiet, steady strength, and David wanted to wrap himself around him like a clinging vine. 

He really, really had to watch that.

Patrick gave David his tea, and they sat down on Ray’s awful flowered couch, and David told him about the money. As he talked, David kept his eyes fixed on a particularly hideous flower on the cushion beneath him; it was big and pink and puffy, like the bags under his eyes.

When David was done, Patrick blew out a breath. “That’s—wow.” He seemed stunned, but he didn’t immediately say, _well, you and your family are obviously one big train wreck._ Though he was thinking it. Probably. David would have been.

David kept his eyes firmly down as he asked the question that had been humming in his brain the last two weeks, the one hope he had left. He said, “So, um, the grant money? When do you think we’ll be getting that, exactly, and do you think it’s—is it enough to—” He made a gesture to convey the missing twenty thousand.

David looked into Patrick eyes, hoping to see the expression Patrick had when he’d offered to apply for the grants, and be David’s business partner, when he’d said _I’m gonna get the money._

God. That’s when David had known, for sure, how much he really, really wanted this guy, this business major with his plain blue button downs and distractingly tight jeans and steady gaze and confident voice. David could imagine, so clearly, so vividly, Patrick using that voice to say _take off your clothes_ or _get down on the bed_ or _take my cock, David._

Stop.

David buried his face in the cup of tea. He took a sip and then put it down carefully on the coffee table. Patrick was using a very different voice now, a soft, earnest voice, to explain about _declared assets_ and _full transparency_ and _grantors,_ and what these grantors would be verifying or auditing or whatever. David couldn’t follow it all exactly, but it seemed that, by giving away his money, he’d jeopardized getting the grant money too.

“But shouldn’t they see that I need the money _more_ now?” David said. 

Apparently, that wasn’t how it worked. He was finding out all kinds of things about what life was like for people who didn’t have money. Mostly, that it sucked.

David clapped his hands to his cheeks. “So what you’re saying is I’ve fucked everything up. Like completely fucked it up.”

“Well, it’s a wrinkle.”

 _It’s a wrinkle_ was probably accountant-speak for _you’re fucked._

David said slowly, “So I guess this means—I know you can’t—if there’s no money now, and no grant money coming in, I know that means you can’t work with me anymore.”

He heard Patrick draw a breath. “Oh.”

"I mean—right? I can’t expect you to work for me for free. What kind of boss would I be then?” He forced a smile.

Patrick was looking down. David could not guess what he was thinking. When he looked up, though, his face was calm as usual. “Partner,” he said.

“What?”

“Not boss,” Patrick said. “Partner.”

David let out a breath that was half a laugh, almost dizzy with relief that Patrick wasn’t going to abandon him forever. “Yeah. Okay. Partner.”

“It’s fine. We'll hit pause on Rose Apothecary, but I'll keep working on the grants. I'll just stay here at Ray's.”

“But didn’t you already give him two weeks notice?”

“Oh. Yeah.” For the first time, Patrick looked nonplussed, like he was just realizing how much this changed everything.

“I’m sorry,” David said.

Patrick shook his head. “I’ll talk to Ray. It will be fine.”

David said, “And I have to talk to all of our—all of the vendors, right? Get them to pick up their stuff. Tell them the store won’t—might not open. And the lease. Can I get out of the lease?” David’s hands flew up in proportion to the accumulating horror of this disaster. 

Patrick reached out and grabbed David’s gesticulating hands, bringing them down, holding them in both of his. “David, stop, don’t do any of those things yet. I’ll do some research, okay? I’ll see if I can amend the application. I’ll look for other grants. We’re not out of options here.”

Patrick was trying to give him hope, which was nice of him, but David was pretty sure he could read between the lines. He stared down at Patrick’s hands, holding his own. Patrick’s grip was warm and strong, and so comforting David already dreaded the moment he would let go.

Patrick said, “David, you did the right thing. You had to help your sister.”

David said. “Did I, though? She screwed up, and for what? Just some stupid, cheap thrill. It wasn’t like she was rescuing orphans or something.”

Patrick looked sympathetic. 

David went on, “Twenty thousand dollars, gone. God, that used to be nothing, and now it’s _everything._ She doesn’t understand that. She’s still there, where there’s always more where that came from. And I’m—I’m here. And I’m bailing _her_ out. _Fuck.”_

“David, it’s okay to be mad. You did the right thing, but it’s okay to be mad.” Patrick’s hands slid away, and David fought the urge to claw desperately after them.

David folded his hands in his lap, clasping them together. He really shouldn’t be forcing Patrick to listen to him whine, when he was the one who screwed up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t your problem."

“It’s okay. I want to—I want to help if I can.”

“Thanks,” David said. Patrick would say that, because he was _nice._ “I should go, though.” He stood up. Patrick stood up too, and they walked over to Ray’s front door.

David reached for the doorknob, and Patrick said, “What do you say we drown your sorrows? Get a drink?” He had an odd tone to his voice, and David glanced at him. The arms that David tried not to ogle every day were folded tight across his chest.

“You don’t have to do that,” David said. 

“No, I’d like to,” Patrick said.

David shook his head, tight-lipped. “Not tonight,” he said. Patrick was just being polite, and if David got any alcohol in his system tonight, he was likely to cry or scream or ask his buttoned up business partner if he could suck his cock. Which would be a _great_ distraction. But.

David opened the door, and glanced back. Patrick looked disappointed. Well, who could blame him? Patrick had taken a chance on him by going into business with him, and David had let him down. “Good night,” he said, and went out.

*

David walked slowly back to the motel, his home for the last year and half, trying to ignore the word _failure_ that was snaking into his brain.

No. This was not his fault. It was Alexis’s fault.

A year and a half ago, after their first night here, Alexis had hitchhiked to Elm Valley— _hitchhiked!_ Did she _want_ to get murdered?—where there was an airstrip, and Stavros had sent his private jet to pick her up. As easily as that, she had escaped.

Naturally David had asked to go with her, but Alexis said _not right now._

She and Stavros had broken up, but then she had hooked up with some baseball player or football or foosball player, one of those, and when that went south she started hanging out with this girl Klair, and that’s where she still was, jetting around the world, going to Coachella, whatever.

And the _not right now_ had turned into _soon_ which had turned into _later,_ and then she’d stopped mentioning it at all. 

Was he jealous that she had gotten out of this hellscape, and he was still stuck here? No. 

Well, actually yes.

Every day. 

Nothing made you realize the value of money more than not having it anymore. After a year of being so broke he couldn't even afford dry cleaning—he’d had to _hand wash_ his knits! In his tiny motel sink!—he’d finally gotten a little money in the bank last year, when he'd helped Wendy, his former boss, sell the name of her store. The Blouse Barn was such a painfully bad name, the irony of it having value was actually painful, so painful he almost didn’t want to take the money.

Almost.

Forty thousand dollars, in his old life, would have barely paid for his wardrobe for the year. Maybe half a year. But now, after having to make do with fashion that was two years out of date and getting older by the day—God, he’d kill to get his hands on a few sweaters from Dries van Noten’s new season—and after spending six months carefully, painstakingly rationing out the last of his Cle de Peau moisturizer, using less and less each day, supplementing it with inferior products from Elmdale; after the aching sense of loss he’d felt when he’d squeezed out the last drop; after almost two years running a tab at the fucking Cafe Tropical—well, forty thousand dollars seemed like a fucking fortune. 

But now it was gone, all of it.

He should have taken Patrick up on that pity drink. It was only nine o’clock, but he crawled into bed. The word _failure_ crawled in beside him, curled up next to him, snaked its arms around him like a—well, not a friend, exactly, but something familiar, known. And there was a strange kind of comfort in that.

*

He woke up, disoriented, to the sound of his phone ringing. He fumbled for it and saw Alexis’s name. Fuck. His heartbeat accelerated. He had nothing anymore, no means to help her, no chance of getting more. 

He hit the answer button.

“Guess what?” she screeched in his ear.

The familiar mixture of rage and worry sharpened his tone. “What the fuck, Alexis? What’s wrong?”

“I have amazing news, David!” she said. “I’m coming to see you!”

“Jesus, is that all? It’s the middle of the fucking night.”

“It’s eleven-thirty, David.”

David stared up at the ceiling. His heart rate was slowing down. Alexis wasn’t in trouble. She was okay. She was really okay. 

Then he said, “Wait, you’re coming here? Voluntarily?”

“Yes, David.”

“Why?”

Alexis laughed. “David! Maybe I want to see you. Is that so strange?”

It was, actually, but David felt a tiny flicker of warmth at the idea. He worked to squelch it. “You’re sure you’re not in trouble?”

“Ugh! Why do you keep asking that? Klair is visiting her grandmother in Toronto and she’s going to let me take one of the cars to drive up to see you.”

Klair. Should he mention the money? He decided not to. He said instead, “Have you told Mom and Dad?”

Alexis made a frustrated noise. “No, and could you just, like, do it for me? I’m not ready to deal.”

“Okay, sure,” he said. He’d been the one to deal with their parents for the last year and a half, but sure.

When he hung up, he looked around the motel room. 

Thinking of Alexis seeing this room again made him see it with fresh eyes. The carpet was stained and dotted with little snags, the empty bed that Alexis would sleep in was covered with its not quite beige/not quite pink comforter. The vivid teal bricks were suddenly as horrifyingly vivid as when he first saw them. His black and white bedding, spotlessly clean, was a tiny oasis in this sea of horrifying, dingy mediocrity.

It was strange, he almost didn’t notice its awfulness anymore. 

He felt a shiver of dread. _He was getting used to this place._

*

Alexis parked in front of the motel with a spray of gravel, and he and his parents went out to greet her. His father gamely brought in her luggage, and Alexis let him do it, with the unconcerned air of someone who never had to worry about carrying her own bags.

She exclaimed at how “cute” their Lincoln was, which set David’s teeth on edge.

His dad fussed over Alexis, which was typical, and his mother just stared silently, hungrily at her. Which was not typical, but it was exactly what David was doing, too, which was infuriating.

Alexis exuded money. Her skin was glowing like she had access to all the products David couldn’t afford to use anymore. Well, no—he’d put his skincare routine up against anyone’s. But the difference was, now he had to _work_ for it, he assembled products carefully, painstakingly, searching and sifting and sorting until he had the very best this region had to offer. But he had to do it himself. And it was work, hard work. Alexis still had the look of someone who didn’t have to think about it at all, who used up half the bottle and then threw the rest away when it didn’t squeeze out easily anymore. 

That night, she scattered her things all over the room and chattered to him about nonsensical shit, people he half-remembered and half-remembered hating. And he was envious, so envious he was choking with it.

It was ridiculous. She was as poor as he was. Poorer, really. She was actually _homeless._ And she owed _him_ money. But somehow, she was acting like visiting royalty, and he was letting her. They were all letting her.

And somehow he couldn’t bring himself to mention the money quite yet.

Sharing a room was awful, of course, but it was nice having her there. At least, he knew where she was. He could go to sleep without wondering what east Asian palace she was being held captive in, without worrying about getting that middle of the night phone call. It was … nice. 

But he wasn’t going to mention that either.

*

The next morning, Alexis asked if she could see the store, saying, “What else is there to do here?.” Which was a fair point, but still. So he took her over. As he unlocked the door, he said, “Keep in mind that it’s not done, I don’t have all the furniture I want yet—there’s boxes everywhere—”

“Oh my God, just let me in, David,” she said, pushing him aside.

“You have to imagine it without the boxes,” he said. “Imagine plants up in this front window, here in the light.”

She looked around, taking it all in. She said, “This is super cute!” She clutched his arm. “Oh my God, look at you! Just like a little mini Gwyneth.”

“Shut up,” David muttered. But he felt gratified, a little bit. Which made him angry. He shouldn’t care about Alexis’s approval. He _didn’t_ care.

Just then, Patrick came out of the back room, holding a box. “Oh,” he said. “I thought I heard voices.”

“Hi,” David said. What was Patrick doing here? David thought they’d decided to _hit pause_ on Patrick working here? 

“Who’s this?” Alexis said at the same time.

“This is Patrick, he’s—he was my business partner. And Patrick, this is my sister.”

“Alexis,” she said, with a lilt in her voice. She pointed to the A on the chain around her throat, making David want to choke her with it. Didn’t she have enough guys to choose from at all the stupid parties she was always going to? Did she have to trawl the waters here too?

“Nice to meet you, Alexis,” Patrick said, smiling.

Alexis shot David a look, widening her eyes in approval.

Studiously ignoring her, David said to Patrick, “So, did you—what are you—were you working on the grants?”

“A little,” Patrick said. “And then I thought I might as well finish unpacking these candles.”

Did Patrick _forget_ that he wasn’t supposed to be working here anymore? That they might have to ship everything back to the vendors, including these candles? Should David say something? He should say something. But seeing Patrick here was such a relief, David couldn’t make the words come out.

So he and Patrick unpacked the candles while Alexis vamped around in the store, exclaiming over everything she saw and trying to sample everything. She exclaimed over Patrick, too, like he was one of the lip balms and she wanted to sample him too. It was all so transparent and stupid and infuriating because of how often David had seen it work in the past. 

“Patrick, you should have dinner with us tonight!” Alexis said, tapping his arm.

This was not something he and Patrick had ever done before, and David would _never_ have suggested it. Patrick offering him a drink last night was the first time either of them had suggested doing something outside of work.

God, Alexis really was a cannonball crashing through all the carefully calibrated social niceties of his life.

“David’s taking me to that cafe over there,” Alexis said, pointing out the front window with one limp finger.

“I’m familiar with it,” Patrick said with a little smile. He glanced at David. 

David scanned through what David-Rose-without-a-crush would say in this situation, and came up with, “Of course, you’re welcome to join us, Patrick.”

 _He’s going to say no,_ and David braced himself for the rejection, even though this was _not his invitation_ so it wasn’t fair that he was going to feel rejected, but instead Patrick’s smile softened and he nodded.

Huh. Well, that was strange.

*

“So what’s the story with that adorable button with the lumberjack arms?” Alexis said. They were back at the motel, getting ready to meet Patrick. Alexis was digging through her suitcase, throwing clothes around with a perfect disregard for their proper care.

“There’s no story,” David said.

She held up a kicky little black cocktail dress, which David recognized as part of Yves Saint Laurent’s spring collection from a year ago. “What do you think of this one?” she said.

It would look excellent on Alexis. “Hm. Did Klair buy that for you?”

Alexis twisted her mouth a little. “Um, kind of.”

“Kind of? What, did you steal it?”

“No.” Alexis looked at the dress again. She fluffed up the skirt. She looked up. “Fine! It’s Klair’s from last year."

“Oh, I see. A hand-me-down, then.”

“Like you wouldn’t have taken it,” she huffed.

He said, “Well, little orphan Annie, I just think it’s a little fancy for the cafe.”

“But I want to take it out for a test drive,” she said. _“You_ changed,” she said, gesturing to his outfit.

He looked down at the Givenchy cashmere and Prada trousers he’d just put on. “Well, I’m not a _savage.”_

“So where did you find him?” she said, going back to pawing through her suitcase. “Patrick, I mean. And how did you talk him into going into business with you?"

“I didn’t. He offered.”

Alexis’s eyes got even bigger. “What, he just walked up to you and said ‘can I be your business partner?’”

“I talked to him about it when I applied for my business license. And he—” David stopped. Well, Patrick _had_ walked up to him and _can I be your business partner?_ Actually, it was more like a statement: _I’m going to be your business partner._

“He what?” Alexis said.

“He’s a business major and he knew a good business opportunity when he saw one,” David said.

“Uh huh,” Alexis said, smiling knowingly.

“He did!” 

“You don’t think there could be another reason …” Alexis trailed off suggestively, doing a weird half wink/half blink thing.

“What other reason could there be?”

“Well, I was sending out some signals today, and he didn’t really respond, which is very strange, David.” 

“Maybe not everyone finds you irresistible, Alexis,” David said, trying not to sound too gleeful.

She gave him a look. “In this town? Really? Did he, like, just get married or something?”

“No,” David said.

“Then he’s gay,” she said with finality.

“I don’t know what his preferences are,” David said. “And it’s inappropriate for us to—to speculate.”

That was a mistake. Alexis definitely smelled blood on the water now. “Is it, David? Is it inappropriate?”

“You don’t know a thing about it,” David said coldly. “He’s my business partner, and that’s it. And he might not even be that, anymore."

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t exactly keep him on if I can’t afford to pay him, can I?”

At that, Alexis actually looked uncertain, maybe even vaguely ashamed, which was not a look he saw on her very often. The last time he could remember was after she got her back tattoo—and she’d been twelve at the time, so it didn’t really count.

*

When they got to the cafe, Patrick was waiting for them in a booth.

Alexis pronounced the cafe “adorable” as she slid in across from Patrick. David stood hesitating, trying to decide which side David-without-a-crush would sit on. Then Patrick slid over, so David scooted in next to him. 

_Don’t be weird._

“Um, hi,” David said.

“Hi,” Patrick said.

Twyla approached. “What can I get you guys?” she said.

“What’s in the sunshine smoothie?” Alexis asked.

Twyla said cheerily, “I made it this morning.” Which wasn’t really an answer.

“Does it have fruit in it?”

“Maybe?” Twyla said.

“I’ll try it!” Alexis said. “I could use a little sunshine.” She winked. David wanted to grind his teeth. Alexis was acting like being here was a little adventure she was having, and this town was here to put on a quirky little show just for her.

“I’ll have the nachos,” David said loudly.

“A club sandwich,” Patrick said.

Twyla collected their menus and went away, and David said to Patrick, “A club sandwich? Really?”

“It’s what I always get.”

“Really? You always get the same thing?”

“I know what I like,” Patrick said.

“That’s pathological,” David said.

“Is it?” Patrick said, and his mouth turned up into a little tucked in smile. David melted a little inside. He loved that little smile. It felt like such an intimate and affectionate smile, a private, special smile, just for David. Of course it wasn’t—obviously—but he could feel his mouth twisting, wanting to smile in return, and he had to bite down on his lips to hold it back.

Alexis squealed and said “You guys are so cute!” Patrick’s smile faded, and David was going to kill Alexis, he really was.

Patrick cleared his throat and said to Alexis, “So your friend is in Toronto?”

Alexis said, “Yes, she’s visiting her grandmother.”

“Oh, nice,” Patrick said.

Alexis said, “Yes, she goes every few months. Her grandmother is the one with the real money, and she’s been threatening to disinherit Klair’s dad, so Klair’s hoping she can, you know—” Alexis made an eel-like motion with her hand.

“Hoping she can what?” David said.

“Cut out the middleman.”

“How heartwarming,” David said. “So I’ll just wait for her grandmother to keel over, and then maybe I’ll get my money back.”

Alexis said, “Ugh, David! I told you I would get it back! You have nothing to worry about.”

David said mimicking her, _“You’ll hardly know it’s gone, David._ I know it’s gone, Alexis.”

“I know how to get it back. Promise.”

“Oh, you _promise?_ How reassuring.”

“David, it’s not—I can’t just go right up and ask her. I have to wait for the right moment. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Hmm,” David said, registering an undercurrent in Alexis’s voice—something he couldn’t quite pin down. If it wasn’t Alexis, he’d almost say it was … fearful? He’d never met Alexis’s friend Klair. But he remembered, unwillingly, how careless he’d been with money, back when he’d had it. Maybe he too would have thought nothing of taking twenty thousand dollars from someone and never realizing they might feel the lack of it. 

No, he told himself, stopping that train of thought. He wasn’t going to screw this up by being _understanding._ He was the wronged one here.

Alexis said, “So I’ve got an idea, and I think you’ll like it.”

“What?”

“You come back with me. She’s headed back to her place in Southampton after this. She’s having this big party weekend, including a couple nights on her yacht. So you’ll just come to the party too.” Alexis widened her eyes and put out her hands in a ta-da gesture, like she was giving him a gift. Instinctively, he stiffened.

“I hate the Hamptons,” he said.

“You do not,” she said. “You loved the house we had there. You spend like two years redecorating it.”

Yes, he had. He’d spent two years _restoring_ their Southampton house to its original Art Deco glory. He spent three months just finding someone to properly etch the glass in the antique light sconces on the veranda. 

Someone else’s house now. Someone else was enjoying the veranda’s perfectly rendered period lighting, which they no doubt didn’t even properly appreciate.

He said, “I can’t just drop everything and go off with you. I’m trying to start a business here.”

Alexis said, “And getting your money back wouldn’t help with that? I’m telling you, it will be much easier to get Klair to shell out if you’re right there.”

“This is crazy,” David said flatly. His mind fell into a brief vision, of being able to eat good food and sleep in a comfortable bed, surrounded by beautiful things, but yanked it back. 

“Patrick can come too!” Alexis said. “What do you say, Patrick?”

David expected Patrick to reject the idea out of hand, but instead he said, “Why do you think David being there would help?”

Alexis said, “Klair loves to meet new people and just, like, dazzle them by giving them something they really want. I’ve seen her do it a million times. She definitely did it to me.”

That was interesting. What did Alexis really want? David realized he didn’t know. “What did she give you?”

“A job,” Alexis said, which was … not what he’d been expecting her to say. “Her stepmom runs a PR company, and Klair is taking on a special project. And I’m helping her.” At David’s expression, Alexis said, “What?”

“I just didn’t know you were interested in that. I thought you were going to say she offered you a diamond-encrusted anklet or something.”

“Anklets are so tacky, David,” Alexis said. 

David wanted to ask her more about this job that supposedly her _dream_ or whatever, like what the hell? But then Twyla brought Alexis her smoothie. David watched as Alexis took a sip and her whole face tightened into a grimace. But she said, “Mmm. Yum.”

“Good, is it?” David said.

“This reminds of the kombucha that Klair’s spiritual guru makes. He tailors it to your individual body chemistry and it costs, like, a hundred dollars an ounce.”

Twyla said, “Oh, wow. That’s such a great compliment, Alexis!” and went away smiling.

Alexis said, “David, what’s going on? I thought you’d be excited to get away from here. Weren’t you, like, begging me to bring you along, when I left?”

David said, “I wasn’t _begging.”_

“Um, I definitely remember some begging. Like, a lot of begging.”

“Well, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She squinted at him and said, “You know, I think I might understand why you don’t want to go.”

David said, “Mm, I don’t think so.” He wasn’t even sure himself, and he didn’t like the way Alexis was looking at him.

Alexis said, “You want to go back when you get our money back, or you make a success of this business, or with a fiancé on your arm. Not because of some rich girl’s invitation. Right?”

“Oh,” David said. That was—well. He glanced uneasily at Patrick. He wasn’t sure he liked Patrick hearing Alexis analyze his character. This could get dark fast.

Alexis said, “It’s one weekend, it’s one party. You can’t tell me you don’t want a break from—all this.” She waved a hand around. David pressed his lips together. Of course everything here was hideous and awful, but Alexis wasn’t _here,_ she didn’t _know._

Twyla brought David’s nachos and Patrick’s sandwich, and David picked up a nacho and popped it in his mouth. He noticed Alexis’s eyes fixed on his plate.

He said, “Enjoying your smoothie, Alexis?”

“Yes. Yup.” Alexis took a halfhearted sip.

“Mmm, just like your guru used to make.”

“Ugh. He only did Klair, actually. The rest of us just had to drink hers.”

“Well, there’s nothing worse than kombucha tailored to someone’s else’s body chemistry.”

“Right?” Alexis said, widening her eyes and letting her hand flop over at the wrist. 

David bit back a smile. He nudged his plate over, and Alexis said, “Oh, well,” and dug in. Her phone beeped and she picked it up and hunched over the screen, crunching a tortilla chip.

David looked over at Patrick, who was smiling. “What?” David said.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you share food before.”

“Well, don’t get any ideas.” David said. 

Patrick laughed.

David said in a low voice, “So what do you think about this?” He fluttered his hand in Alexis’s direction. “What would you do?”

“I think we should go,” Patrick said immediately. He held up his hands. “I mean, I’m not the one who has to go face my former friends. But if there’s any chance at getting the money back, what do we have to lose?”

“Only my dignity,” David said, and popped another nacho in his mouth.

Patrick’s mouth quirked up. Then he said, “You’ve got a little—” and pointed to the corner of his mouth.

David grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth with it. He held up a finger. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” he said. 

Patrick said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

David ate another nacho, thinking. “And you’d come too?”

“Um. Do you want me to?”

“Oh, if I’m going, you’re going,” David said. He tried to sound playfully bossy, but he really, really needed Patrick to come along. The thought of going back with Alexis, facing all those people by himself was intolerable.

Patrick said, “I’m not sure you can order me around. You’re not my boss anymore. Isn’t that what you told me today?”

David said, “I seem to remember you saying I was _never_ your boss.”

Patrick’s mouth curled up. “True,” he said. “But yes, I will go. I think this is for a good cause.”

David felt lighter. Patrick was right. It was worth trying, for the sake of the store. He probably wouldn’t know most of these people anyway. Alexis had always run with a slightly different crowd. He turned to Alexis.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come.” 

“We,” Patrick said.

“We will come,” David corrected himself, with a secret glow of pleasure.

Alexis put down her phone so she could clap her hands. For a moment, with her eyes big and bright like this, a smear of cheese oil on her chin, she reminded David achingly of when she was a little girl, always following him around, relentlessly demanding his attention.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

He glanced at Patrick and said, “I guess we’re going to the Hamptons, then."

“Looks like it,” Patrick agreed. He smiled, and this time David let himself smile back. Maybe this wouldn’t be bad, at all.


	2. House party

David wasn’t judgmental.

People said he was, but he wasn’t. He was simply extremely thoughtful and, therefore, extremely correct in his opinions, and really, it was one of his best qualities, if people would only realize it.

So he was not being judgmental, but merely giving the gift of his carefully considered opinion, when he said that Klair, basically, sucked as a human being.

David was not in a good mood, despite the fact that he was lying on the nicest bed he’d been on in a long time. Not perfect, of course. The thread count on the sheets was barely eight hundred—very disappointing.

He was trying to nap before the party tonight. They’d arrived in the Hamptons in late afternoon, after a nightmare of an endless road trip. It had been clear as soon as they left the motel that he was going to suffer from an unbalanced social dynamic. Alexis somehow seemed to think she was leader and organizer of the trip, based on nothing much that he could see.

And, though he had a secret unrequited crush on Patrick, that didn’t mean David was blind to his faults. Namely, that he was a fucking troll. A very cute, very logical, extremely merciless troll that David wanted to bone, but definitely a troll.

First, Patrick joined in with Alexis and basically _forced_ David to take his driver’s test on their way out of town. “You’re not getting out of your driving shifts,” Alexis said. “It will be good to have another form of ID when you’re traveling, David,” Patrick said.

When David explained that his test anxiety absolutely prevented him from doing this, especially when it was _sprung on him at the last minute,_ Alexis scoffed and informed him that the driver’s instructor didn’t give two fucks about whether David passed his test or not, and Patrick was a lot nicer about it but it was clear he thought so, too. 

The annoying thing is this actually turned out to be true, since the driver spent the whole time on his cell phone and hardly paid any attention at all to David, and an hour later David had his license and was taking the first shift.

Then, when they got to Toronto, Klair wasn’t there. She’d left for the Hamptons already, taking the jet with her. Alexis said it was fine, they’d just drive there, despite the fact that it meant _seven more hours_ of driving. This after they’d driven all night to get to Toronto—and David had the bags under his eyes to prove it.

But again he was ruthlessly outvoted, and seven long hours later, they finally arrived at Klair’s.

David was just realizing he’d been to this house before at some point, possibly a party, when Klair came rushing out to give Alexis air kisses and an arms-length hug. “Babe!” she said. “Where have you _been?”_ She made no mention of abandoning them in Canada, and Alexis didn’t either.

“Hi, babe,” Alexis said, smiling. “This is my brother David, and—”

Klair looked at David. “Stop.” She made a circular gesture, indicating his outfit. “Givenchy 2015 was like, such a peak for them. You are so smart to stay away from the last two seasons.”

David’s attempt at a polite smile froze and curdled on his face, while Klair turned to Patrick. “Well, _hello,”_ she said. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Patrick,” he said. He smiled and stuck out his hand. 

She took his outstretched hand and held between both of hers. “Oh, my God, this is, like, so random, but my stepmom started doing this dressage thing, and you look just like this adorable stable boy I met there.” She tugged him toward her so she could tuck her arm through his. Patrick looked bemused.

 _Wow, subtle,_ David thought. _Stable boy, really? What was this, Lady Chatterly’s Lover?_

Klair led them all into the house. David looked around.

“Your house is very, um, interesting,” he said. “You’ve made a lot of changes to it.” A lot of _horrifying_ changes. The wainscoting and shiplap, which he remembered as original to the house, had been painted over a bilious shade of green. Someone had gone wild with Greek reproduction statues—they were _everywhere._ Was that a Venus de Milo, with arms? Was she holding a _cell phone?_ David wanted to bleach his retinas.

“Wait, you’ve been here before?” Klair said.

David waved a hand. “When we lived here we used to come to parties here. I guess that was before you bought it.”

“Shut _up!_ You guys had a house in the Hamptons?” Klair exclaimed. She was still clinging to Patrick’s arm, she was actually _caressing_ it, her perfectly done nails running up and down his forearm. 

Alexis was giving David a meaningful look, but he couldn’t see any reason not to answer. He said, “Yeah, we owned one at the end of Captain’s Neck.”

“Wait, which one?”

“Um, it had a veranda out front?”

Klair’s eyes opened wide and her mouth dropped open. “I know that house! That is _so random,_ I love it,” she said. “Oh, God, that girl who lives there now—what’s her name, Alexis? The one who dated Chris Pratt’s cousin? Whatever, she’s coming to the party tonight! You guys can reminisce with her!”

“Oh, yeah,” Alexis said. Her hand went up to twist her earring. “We’ll have to do that. Totally.”

“Oh! I bet it was a _steal,”_ Klair said. “Didn’t you say all your stuff was, like, auctioned off? God, I wish we had known about it! You should have told me, sweetie. God, I would have just snapped it right up.”

David was horrified, but Alexis just gave a short laugh. “Well, I, um, had other things on my mind.”

Klair’s mouth turned down in a pout. “Of course, girl. Totally understandable. But just imagine these statues on that veranda instead of this tiny entryway. Ugh, I hate you so much!” She was still clinging to Patrick, but she leaned over and slapped Alexis playfully on the arm.

David was speechless, thinking partly of these horrifying faux-Grecian statues on his painstakingly restored Art Deco veranda, but also at Klair’s breathtaking rudeness. David’s eyes flew over to Alexis, but she merely looked resigned.

David was starting to see the problem here.

“Miss Klair?” came a voice from the door. A woman in a housekeeper’s uniform stood with her hands respectfully folded. 

“What the fuck, Emilia? Can’t you see I’m busy? Oh, wait, right,” Klair said. She turned back to them. “I gotta go. I cannot wait for you guys to see the appetizer towers I’ve got planned for the party! But I need to go with Emilia here. She will totally screw this up if I don’t, like, stand over her.” She squeezed Patrick’s arm. “Wanna come, sweetie? I could use a sexy stable boy’s opinion.”

David wanted to grind his teeth. That didn’t even make _sense._ Why would a stable boy have an opinion about appetizers?

Patrick smiled politely. “Oh, thanks, but I should really unpack,” he said.

“Fine,” Klair said, pouting theatrically. She turned to go. 

Alexis said, “Oh, um, Klair? Did you send the proofs?” Klair looked blank. “The marketing proofs? They were due yesterday, and you said you wanted to review them first and, put, like, ‘your stamp’ on them.”

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t do, like, any of that? I’ve been totally busy with this party,” Klair said. 

“I can do it for you,” Alexis said. “I’m happy to do it. I mean, they were expecting them yesterday, so—”

“I told you I’d send them. They’re going to be one day late. Chill,” Klair said laughingly, but with an undercurrent of annoyance. 

Alexis gave a laugh that, if this weren’t Alexis, David would have said was nervous. “Oh, I am super chill,” she said.

“I’m the one who communicates with the client. Not you. I’m the face of the company, ‘kay?” 

“Of course,” Alexis said.

“I’ll see you bitches tonight!” Klair said, and went out.

*

So now David was lying in bed with his under-eye masks, trying to do something about the enormous bags under his eyes, wondering if he was on a fool’s errand. Somehow he had to convince this person, who was truly horrifying in every way, to give him his twenty thousand dollars back.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from Patrick. _Strategy session?_ it said.

David deliberated, torn between the need to strategize and his reluctance for Patrick see him with his eye masks on.

He went to the mirror. “Ugh,” he said when he saw his reflection. What was worse, that Patrick see the bags or the eye masks? He decided Patrick had already seen the bags, so that would have to be the lesser evil. He peeled the masks off and texted back, _Sure._

A minute later, there was a polite knock on the door, and Patrick came in. He looked around and smiled. “A step up from the Schitt’s Creek motel, huh?” he said.

“Money can’t buy you _taste,”_ David said, swinging his arm to indicate the room, which was decorated with all the inspiration of a mid-range hotel lobby.

Patrick’s mouth quirked up. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. 

“Even you have to see those Grecian statues downstairs are horrifying.”

“I liked the Venus de Milo. A big improvement over the original. Never could figure out why the sculptor left off her arms.”

“Okay—” David said, then he saw Patrick was smiling. “Oh. Yes, that was … an oversight.”

“I mean, how is she going to text anybody? Or take selfies?”

“Ugh, it’s too awful to even joke about,” David said.

Patrick sat down. “So I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Is all this necessary? I say we just be straightforward. Ask to meet with her, tell her our situation, and ask her to repay the loan. Simple.”

David said, “I don’t know. Klair seems … unpredictable. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.”

There was a knock at the door. David went to answer it. It was Alexis. “How’s the room?” she said.

“It’s fine,” David said.

She made a face at him. “Is that all you can say?” she said. “You know, Justin Bieber came down off a cocaine binge in this room. He kicked a hole in that wall over there.”

David looked, and sure enough, he could see a faint outline of a repair job. He rolled his eyes. “Great.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and arranged the skirt of her dress just so. “So what’s the plan?” she said.

“We’re discussing it,” David said.

Alexis said, “Well, I have a thought. She clearly likes Patrick. So you guys should, like, milk that.”

 _“Milk_ that? What the hell does that mean?” David said.

“Like,” Alexis looked over at Patrick. “Just play nice, and see where the night takes you.”

David couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m sorry, are you implying Patrick should _prostitute_ himself?”

“Jeez, David, I don’t mean sleep with her, except, I mean, if Patrick _wants_ to—”

“I’m going to stop you there,” Patrick said.

“What the fuck, Alexis?” David exclaimed.

Alexis said, “Well, I’m just _saying._ Klair is cute and everything. If it’s win/win …”

“Uh, no, I’m not doing that,” Patrick said. “I probably wouldn’t anyway, but I’m, uh, gay. Just so you know.”

David’s eyes flew over to Patrick, but he was looking down, a faint flush on his cheeks. _Don’t act weird,_ David told himself. _Be normal._

David looked back at Alexis. She was giving David a look full of gloating at being right, and also promising him a future of endless teasing on this topic.

“So, that’s _fine,_ obviously, Patrick.” Alexis said. “I only brought it up as a possibility. I’m brainstorming!”

David glared. “I can’t believe you wanted to _pimp Patrick out—”_

Patrick said, “Okay, David, that’s not exactly what she said—”

“It sure sounded like it.”

Alexis said, “Well, what if he just has to flutter his eyelashes, flex his forearms a few times…”

“Oh, I highly doubt that would do anything,” Patrick said.

David thought Patrick was way underselling the power of his forearms, but that wasn’t the point here. “Patrick shouldn’t have to do anything,” he said. “I’m the one who gave the money away, and it’s my business that’s on the line.”

Patrick said, “David, we’ve been over this. It’s our business, and I came along because I wanted to help. If me, um, talking to Klair would help—”

“No,” David said. “I should be the one to talk to her.” No way was he letting Klair spend any more time than was necessary with Patrick. 

Patrick turned to Alexis. “Can’t we do it together?” he said. “I was just telling David—can’t we just meet with her like grownups, explain the situation, and ask her to pay us back?”

Alexis made a face. “No,” she said. “I’ll tell you why. So, she has these flashes of generosity. But you need to find her in the right mood, after she’s had a few drinks. That’s when you tell her about your business, and how you can start it if you just have twenty thousand dollars. You can’t say she _owes_ you money, because paying money _back_ doesn’t make her look good. She likes to, like, wave her magic wand and make people’s dream come true, like a fairy godmother.” 

David started pacing. This was sounding more and more sketchy.

“And,” Alexis continued. “She liked Patrick a lot more than she liked you. So he should be the one to should ask her.”

Patrick said. “Well, I’m willing to talk to her, like I said. But, she did call me a stable boy. She might take David more seriously.”

Alexis said, “She called you a stable boy because she thinks you’re sexy, sweetie. She wants you to, like, bone her in a haystack.”

“Ah, yes, I, uh, gathered that.” Patrick was blushing; God, he was adorable. “But I’m not sure that translates into her giving me money. A stable boy is like a servant. Would she give her housekeeper twenty thousand dollars?”

Alexis pursed her lips. “Hm, that’s actually a great point.” 

David announced, “It doesn’t matter. I’m still going to talk to her. I’m the only one who can describe the store and do it justice.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Oh, like you did for me on those voicemails?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” David retorted, and Patrick bit back a smile.

David turned to Alexis. “And you really think the middle of a party is the best place to ask her about this?”

“Yes. She doesn’t drink except at parties, because of the carbs. And this weekend is perfect, because you’ll have three chances—there’s a party tonight and then two more once we get on the _Klair Sailing.”_

David said, “Wait. _Klair ... Sailing?_ Is that really the name of her yacht?”

“Yes,” Alexis said, giving a little eye-roll.

“Seriously,” Patrick said, shaking his head. “When _Klairbuoyant_ was right there.”

“Oh my _God,”_ David said, as Alexis shot Patrick a laughing glance.

“Anyway, David,” Alexis said. "I’ve seriously seen Klair do that, give away money in the middle of a party. Just pick up her phone and transfer it. This is the right move, promise.”

David shook out his hands. “Okay,” he said. “I’m trusting you, that you know what you’re talking about. A lot is riding on this.”

Alexis’s smile faded and her hands flopped to her sides. “You don’t think I know that? No one wants you to get that money back more than me.”

“No one?” David said, arching an eyebrow.

Alexis threw up her hands. “You know what I mean! I know it’s because of me you lost it, and I’m trying to make it up to you! So listen, because I’ve thought about this a lot. The window you’re looking for is after two or three drinks. I’m guessing she’s going to be extra bitchy at first because she’s stressed about the party. Then she’ll have this brief phase where she gets really happy—that’s your moment. It doesn’t last long though. Think Mom on her Christmas pills. Half an hour of happy and then—” She gave a thumbs down.

David said, “She passes out?”

“No. Well, sometimes. But more often—freaking out. Lashing out at people. That kind of stuff."

Patrick was looking back and forth between them. David realized belatedly how this must sound. He said, “Mom is much better now.”

Alexis looked skeptical. “Mm, is she really? Because I remember that first day at the motel—”

“Okay,” David interrupted. “I think I need to get ready now.”

Patrick and Alexis both turned toward the door. Alexis paused and said. “David? Do you need to borrow some undereye cream? Because those bags do not say ‘give me twenty thousand dollars.’”

“Get out.”

When he was alone again, David reapplied his eye masks, smoothing them on with gentle fingers, hoping to find some meditative calm in the ritual of it.

His mind drifted instead to how Alexis had described Klair, in such detail: her moods, her idiosyncrasies, and how it was obviously the product of careful, thoughtful study. Alexis had always been observant about people, far more than he ever was.

But this seemed like more than just that. It seemed like Alexis observed and analyzed and understood Klair because she _had_ to; she’d been living with her for a year, wholly dependent on her generosity, at the mercy of her whims. 

He’d thought of Alexis as living a life that was just next door to what they used to have—not the same, maybe, but similar. He’d thought she escaped the fate of the rest of them, but maybe she was just in a different kind of hell.

He shivered a little.

*

David hovered on the staircase, looking down at the sea of people below. He was acutely conscious of how he looked. He’d taken his time with his hair and his skin. His eyes were not that bad—fuck you, Alexis. And his Rick Owens sweater was classic—timeless. But the people in this room would all know it was two years out of date. Just like everything he owned, now.

The party was already in full swing. The decor was awful, of course; the theme incoherent; the guest list—indiscriminate. But here it was—his old life, laid out before him: pulsing, seething, alive.

He turned back to look at Patrick, just behind him. Patrick was dressed in a black shirt and black jeans, everything basic and off the rack, but he looked fantastic. _Patrick who was gay,_ his mind whispered.

“You okay?” Patrick said. He looked his usual calm, unflappable self, which David found unbelievably comforting. It was embarrassing, really.

“I guess,” David said. “It’s just—Alexis was right. I wish I was coming back under different circumstances.”

Patrick smiled. “What was it? After you’ve gotten your money back or have a fiancé on your arm?”

“Yeah.” 

“Are they that shallow?”

“Yes. Pretty much.” It flashed across David’s mind that _he_ was that shallow. He tried to think about how he would have felt, before, about someone like Klair losing her money, and was depressed to think about how he might have enjoyed it.

He pushed that aside. It was not the time for character examination. He was going into the lion’s den here.

 _Showtime,_ he thought, and descended into the chaos.

“David!” someone shrieked. “David Rose!” And he was caught in a suffocating hug, his cheeks were being sloppily kissed. David vaguely recognized the person. Laura? Lana? 

It was like that all night. So much for his theory that none of Alexis’s friends would remember him. They all did, it seemed, so many people _so_ happy to see him, squealing and hugging and kissing him, saying how much they’d missed him, not one of them mentioning the elephant in the room. But he felt it, he felt them all _not_ saying it; he felt the way poverty clung to him like a bad smell.

He lost track of Patrick. He got a drink in his hand and got his party legs underneath him, enough so he no longer felt like he was drowning. Ask questions, get them talking, throw out a bitchy one-liner, deflect, deflect, deflect.

It all consumed so much of his attention that he almost forgot why he was there, for an hour or two. When he remembered again, he snagged another drink off of a circulating tray—a brandy Alexander, passable—and looked around for Klair. He saw her over by the built-in water feature. A water feature. Jesus, was this the mid-90’s?

He approached her slowly, sipping his drink. She was talking to a tall woman with a high forehead, mid-twenties, probably, in a Stella McCartney sundress. 

Klair turned and saw him. “David!” she squealed. “This is Brittany—she’s the one I was telling you about. Her family bought your old house! So wild, right?"

David pasted on a smile to greet the woman, who at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. “You must be David Rose,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

Klair’s eyes were round and bright, darting between them, obviously hoping for drama, and David was determined not to give her any. He smiled and said graciously, “I hope you are enjoying the house.”

Brittany sipped her drink. “Very much. The restoration is perfect. Where did you find that etched glass for the antique lights on the veranda?”

“Oh,” David said with pleasure. “I found a glass etcher in upstate New York. Retired and completely off the grid, but I persuaded him to do one last job.”

“Well, it is sublime. So many people redecorate these old houses without any regard for the period.”

She met David’s gaze over the rim of her drink, and rolled her eyes, indicating the space around them. David bit down on a surprised smile.

Brittany leaned forward. She said, “David, if you have time to swing by this weekend, I have something I think belongs to your family.”

“Really?” David’s mind cycled through possibilities of what it could be—jewelry? The Louis Vuitton shawl scarf he’d left behind? No, everything of value had been confiscated by the government. It was probably a box of remaindered copies of _Fast Forward to Success: Business the Johnny Rose Way._

“Your call,” Brittany said. “Excuse me,” she said to Klair, and melted away in the crowd.

“Brittany is, like, super nice,” Klair said. She seemed disappointed.

David looked at Klair, trying to assess her level of intoxication. What was it Alexis had said? _She has a phase where she gets really happy._ She didn’t look particularly happy; she looked about the same as she had earlier—self-satisfied and vaguely annoyed.

“The party is going well,” he tried, cursing himself for his inanity. 

“Mm, _so_ glad you could make it!” Klair said. She took a gulp of her drink.

“Me too,” David said. “I actually had to leave the business I’m starting, to come here.”

“Oh, are you starting a business? That’s cool.” 

Encouraged, David said, “Yes, it’s a business devoted to finding local artisans, who make luxury beauty products, candles, organic food and wine—”

Klair interrupted, “Mm hm. You know, I’ve got a business too.”

“Really?” David tried to sound enthusiastic. “Is that the one you were talking about with Alexis?”

“Absolutely,” Klair said. She dug in her purse and took out a card. _Klairify,_ it said.

“It’s a PR company,” Klair said. “We’re doing this awesome project right now, super exclusive. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you who it was for.”

David knew she wanted him to ask, so he said, “Oh, who is it?” 

“I shouldn’t tell you.” Then she took him by the arm and pulled him toward her. She stood on tiptoes to put her mouth against his ear, damp and close. “Kylie Jenner,” she whispered.

When she pulled away again, he tried to look very impressed. He said, “Wow.”

Klair looked smug. “And after this is done, I’m pretty sure I’ll be invited to the Kardashian fourth of July party in Mykonos. It will be the event of the decade.”

David needed to bring the conversation back to his business. “Entrepreneurship is _so_ rewarding, isn’t it?” he tried.

“Yeah,” Klair said. She seemed bored again.

David pressed on. “So, for my business, I’m carefully curating the best of these local products, and re-branding them with my look and my label—”

Klair’s focus suddenly sharpened. “Like Gwyneth?”

David thought that was surprisingly perceptive. “Um, yes, exactly,” he said. “I’ve got a sustainable business model that involves selling the products on a consignment basis—”

Klair was starting to look bored again. David went on hastily, “I’m ready to open up next month. The only trouble is,” he paused. God, why was this so humiliating? He went on, forcing the words out, “Due to a family emergency that depleted my start-up money, the whole thing is in jeopardy."

Klair said, “You poor thing!” She finished her drink and frowned at it. She looked around. “Mm, I want sangria. Where’s the fucking sangria?”

“Yes, it’s very frustrating.”

Klair pointed at him with her empty glass. “David!” she said. “I’m going to help you!”

“You are?” David said. Was it really going to be this easy?

“Yes, I’m going to let you talk to my business manager. He’s right here,” Klair said, looking over David’s shoulder. “Sebastien! Come over here!”

David froze. _Impossible._

“David,” said a voice behind him. A smooth, low, insinuating voice. A voice he hadn’t heard in years, and had hoped never to hear again.

“Sebastien?” David said.

Sebastien said, “I thought that was you.” He looked David up and down, appraisingly. David felt the fragile shreds of confidence he’d wrapped around himself start to slip away.

“Get out! You guys know each other?” Klair said.

“Yes, David and I were very close at one time,” Sebastien said. “I’m sorry, David, I haven’t been in touch. When I heard about your tragedy, it wrecked me. Absolutely wrecked me.” He put his hand on his heart. “The only way I could process it was through my art. I was inspired to do a piece on poverty that was terrifying and yet—so meaningful.”

“Oh,” David managed to say. 

Sebastien said, “Out of great tragedy comes great art, David. I want you to know that what you’ve gone through has not been a waste.”

Klair came around and twined her arms around Sebastien’s waist. “That show was, like, so powerful,” she said. Sebastien put his arm around her.

David looked at Klair and Sebastien, both looking at him expectantly. He swallowed and groped for something to say. “So you’re a business manager now? What do you know about finance?”

“I dabble,” Sebastien said. “Money is fascinating to me.”

Suddenly Patrick was by David’s side, pressing a drink into his hands. David’s fingers closed around it automatically. “Got you a sangria, David,” Patrick said.

David looked at him blindly. “Um, thanks,” he said.

“Fuck, _I_ want sangria,” Klair said. She disentangled herself from Sebastien. “David, tell Sebastien all about your business. He’s a genius, he’ll help you. Where’s the fucking waiter?” She turned to scan the crowd.

“Oh, do you need help with your business, David?” Sebastien said.

David felt like he was in some kind of nightmare. He used to have real, actual nightmares that were very much like this. He gulped down some of the sangria.

Sebastien said, “I think you’re so brave, David. To come here with so little to show for yourself. I admire you, I really do.” His voice suffused with a warm sincerity that David knew from experience was pure bullshit.

Sebastien reached out like he was going to touch him, and David instinctively reared back.

Patrick’s hand was suddenly warm against David’s back, steadying him, as he extended a hand for Sebastien to shake.

“I’m Patrick,” he said pleasantly. “I’m David’s fiancé.”

What remaining wits David had immediately fled. The nightmare had suddenly transformed into one of his private, secret fantasies. David had had three drinks, but now he wondered if someone had slipped him something stronger. A lot stronger. The only thing to do seemed to go with it. David leaned into Patrick’s side and one of his hands crept up to Patrick’s shoulder.

The look on Sebastien’s face was something for the ages. Sebastien shook Patrick’s hand. “Sebastien Raine,” he said. He looked at David questioningly.

Klair had snagged a glass of sangria. “Wait, fiancé?” she said. 

“Sorry, I need to steal David away now,” Patrick said to them both, turning David away.

“It was nice to see you again, Sebastien,” David had the presence of mind to say, as he and Patrick turned, Patrick’s arm still solid around his waist. David fluttered a hand behind him. “So sorry we don’t have time to catch up.”

Patrick steered him through the crowd. He was saying, quickly, speaking low, “I’m so sorry, David, that was an impulse. You just looked upset, and I was thinking about what you said before about coming back with a fiancé, and it just came out. I know it was really presumptuous—”

Patrick opened the door to a balcony and ushered David outside. 

David waved a hand, trying to stem the tide. He was still flying high from the look on Sebastien’s face. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said. “It was kind of great, actually.”

“Yeah?” Patrick said, a smile breaking out on his face. 

“Yeah.”

Patrick blew out a breath. He turned to lean on the balcony railing, resting his forearms on it. David took a moment to admire the curve of Patrick’s ass in the black denim—he was only human, after all—then leaned on the balcony next to him. They both were silent as they looked out over an ornamental rose garden, surprisingly tasteful. Probably belonged to the neighbors.

David’s eyes flicked over to see Patrick looking straight at him. David felt caught by Patrick’s gaze, held in place. He couldn’t look away. The noise of the party receded. Patrick’s expression changed, became open, vulnerable, even. His lips parted slightly. David felt himself leaning, swaying closer—

“There you are!” said a voice.

They both jumped. David turned. It was Alexis, all exasperation and impatience.

She said, “Why aren’t you with Klair? Did you talk to her already? Now’s the perfect time. She’s flying high about this stupid party.” 

David said, “I started to, but—” He broke off when a sudden suspicion darted into his head. He caught hold of it and said, “But she said I should talk to her business manager.”

“Oh,” Alexis said. Her face contorted into a series of expressions, all of which were screaming _guilty, guilty, guilty._ “Um, did she say if he was … here?” 

David said, enunciating each word, “Yes, he’s here. She introduced me to him, in fact.”

Alexis grimaced. The suspicion in David’s mind hardened into a certainty. He said, “So, I’m guessing you knew Sebastien was Klair’s business manager?”

Alexis twisted her hands in front of her chest. “I wasn’t even sure he was going to be here. I knew you wouldn’t come if I told you!”

David said, “Oh, you’re fucking right about that.”

“Ugh! Don’t you think it’s time you got over it, David? I know he cheated on you and dumped you, but let’s face it, he wasn’t the only one.”

Patrick made a sound in his throat, and David threw his hands up. “I don’t fucking believe this. Sebastien is not just any ex.”

“I know, he said ‘no one will ever love you’—she made little air quotes—“and you, like, internalized it or whatever.”

“What the _fuck,_ Alexis?” God, how did she even remember that?

Sebastien’s voice crept into his head, along the memory of his hands on his body. _You were built for pleasure, not love, David._ David shivered.

David felt Patrick’s arm brush against his. Patrick had shoved his hands in his pockets and had moved to stand closer to him.

Alexis said in a softer voice, “How was it?” she said. “Was he awful?”

“He was awful, but it was fine. It’s fine. Patrick, um—”

Patrick said, “Oh, I don’t know if we need to go into that.”

Alexis said sharply, “What? What happened?”

David looked at Patrick. Patrick grimaced and made a _go ahead_ gesture.

David said, “Patrick kind of told Sebastien that we’re—Patrick and I, that we’re, um—engaged.”

Alexis’s mouth fell open and her eyes opened up wide. She looked delighted. “Get out! Really?” she said.

“Sebastien was giving David a hard time and I wanted to—um, shut him up,” Patrick said.

“And it worked,” David said, thinking of the look on Sebastien’s face.

“Mm!” Alexis reached out and booped Patrick on the nose. “That is the sweetest thing! I mean, it might totally screw up all of our plans, but still. Super sweet!” 

Patrick looked embarrassed. “I don’t want to screw up our plans.”

David said, “Alexis, the plan is dead, anyway. Sebastien is Klair’s _business manager!_ He’ll never let her give me money. This whole trip was a waste of time.”

Alexis shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. In fact, Klair might do it just because Sebastien tells her not to. I’ve seen her do it. Did you talk to her tonight?”

“I started. Seeing Sebastien derailed everything.”

“Well, you better hurry. She’ll be too drunk if you wait too long. There’s a window, and you don’t want to miss it.”

There was a loud shout. They stepped inside, in time to see Klair scream, “Albany, you stupid bitch!”

“Well, you missed it,” Alexis said.

*

David trudged up the stairs with Alexis and Patrick behind him. He stopped outside his door. “Good night,” he said.

“Mm, aren’t you forgetting something?” Alexis said. She looked gleeful. Unlike Patrick and him, she did not seem particularly discouraged. 

“What?” David said impatiently. He was tired and just wanted to go to bed.

 _“Fiancés_ generally sleep in the same room, don’t they? Or are you guys saving yourselves for marriage?” 

Oh, God. “Shut up, Alexis.”

“Wouldn’t want word to get back to Klair and Sebastien about your little separate bedrooms. They might think there’s trouble in paradise.”

David glanced over at Patrick.

Patrick said, “She’s right, David. God, I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

“Okay,” David said quickly. His overriding thought was to get away from Alexis’s interested eyes, eyes that saw way too much. “There’s a couch in here. Grab your stuff, we’ll figure something out.”

“Good night, boys,” Alexis trilled. “Sleep well.” David flipped her off. She flipped him off in return, giving him a little squinty eyed grin, and waltzed off down the hallway.

*

Patrick insisted on taking the couch, and David graciously allowed himself to be talked into it. David gave Patrick a pillow and one of the blankets, and Patrick made a neat little bed on the couch. He went into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed. When he came out, looking adorable in a t-shirt and sleep pants, David took his turn. He took his time in the bathroom, painstakingly going through all the steps of his nightly skin care routine. He was stalling, he knew. 

When he came out, Patrick was on the couch, tucked up under the blanket.

David turned off the light and got under the covers. “How’s the couch?” he said. 

“It’s fine,” Patrick said. “I’m honored to think I’m sleeping where Justin Bieber nearly OD’d.”

“Ew,” David said. “Thanks, I’ll never get to sleep now.”

Patrick said, “I’m really sorry about this, David. I should never have said we were engaged. I’m usually not so—”

David interrupted, “Jesus, will you stop apologizing? I gave away all of our startup money, so you have a long way to go before the scales are even close to even.”

Patrick was silent. Then he said, “You didn’t give it away for no reason, David. Your sister was in trouble.”

David sighed. “Yeah, I guess.” He clapped his hands over his face. He said, “I think we just need to go home. We’re never getting the money back.” 

“You don’t know that.”

David said, “I think I do.”

There was a long silence. “Why?”

David had spoken impulsively, but now he said slowly, feeling his way, “I think Klair is smart. I think she knows what we want, and she’s the kind of person who would enjoy not giving it to us.”

“What about what Alexis said, about her moments of generosity?”

David said, “I believe that’s probably true. But that could never apply to us, because she _does_ owe us the money. So she’s not being—you know, lady bountiful or whatever.”

“Hm, I can see that.”

“People who have this much money—some of them—money isn’t their currency, power is. And we don’t have any. Money or power.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “I was thinking that—for me. You know, the stable boy thing. But you—”

“Oh, I _definitely_ have no power.”

Patrick was silent again for a long moment, then he said, “Is that what Sebastien is like?”

David was startled. “Oh. Yeah, a bit.” And wasn’t that an understatement.

“He must have hurt you a lot,” Patrick said quietly.

Patrick’s sympathy wound its way under David’s defenses. He felt tears gathering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. He didn’t trust his voice to say anything else.

 _You were built for pleasure, not love._ David felt the familiar shadow of remembered pain, but now it was overlaid with the look on Sebastien’s face when Patrick had introduced himself as his fiancé. He had been shocked, really shocked. Take that, motherfucker.

Patrick said, “So, what you say makes sense. And we can go home if you want, instead of going to the yacht party tomorrow. But I say we still ask Klair to pay you back, just ask, straight out, before we go. We don’t have anything to lose, right?”

David thought about that. “Okay. We’ll ask her. Then we leave.”

“Well, I’m disappointed we won’t get to see the _Klair Sailing.”_

“Seriously, some people shouldn’t be allowed to name their own yachts.”

Patrick laughed. Then he said, “David, remember, when we get home, we can still look at grants, explore other funding. We have options.” His voice was low and reassuring. David didn’t know what he had done to have this man in his corner, but he was grateful.

“Okay,” David said. 

“Good night, David.”

“Good night, Patrick.”

Patrick fell asleep pretty quickly, but David lay awake for a long time, listening to his quiet breathing. It was nice, really nice. It made David feel not quite as alone as he usually did—not quite as alone he always was.

 _I’m David’s fiancé._ Patrick’s arm solid around his waist, guiding him through the crowd. The cool air out on the balcony. Strong shoulders under David’s hands. Warm brown eyes and soft, pink lips. David had wanted to kiss him so much in that moment. 

Who was he kidding? He wanted to kiss Patrick, all the time.

And that, right there, was another reason they had to leave. A weekend pretending to be fiancés, especially moving to a tiny yacht bedroom, would be exactly the wrong thing for him right now. Maintaining some space and distance was David’s only hope of keeping these feelings under control.

But he was very much afraid it was already far, far too late.


	3. Daredevil

David came slowly awake. He felt … strangely comfortable. He was burrowed into a very fluffy pillow, and his arms and legs were deliciously spread out. Why did this feel so unfamiliar?

Then he remembered. Klair—the Hamptons—Patrick. He sat up abruptly to look over at the couch. It was empty, the blanket folded neatly at one end. He looked wildly around the room. Was Patrick gone already?

Then he heard the water running. Patrick must be in the shower. 

David flopped back on the bed. This bed was spacious and very comfortable, despite the disappointing thread count. David let himself luxuriate in it a little.

He slipped into a fantasy, where Patrick really was his fiancé. His fiancé, being a naturally early riser—David was sure that was true—always showered first. Then David would get up, open the bathroom door, say good morning to his fiancé, and they’d discuss breakfast options (pancakes—or no, waffles, definitely waffles) and David would brush his teeth (oral hygiene was not to be neglected even in a fantasy), and then slide the shower door open and slip into Patrick’s warm, wet embrace. 

David’s hand drifted down to touch himself over his sleep pants, thinking of Patrick’s face smiling at him with water droplets on his eyelashes, thinking of sliding his hands all over Patrick’s slippery pink skin and putting his mouth on Patrick’s pink lips and pressing his body against his and reaching down to feel his hardening cock—

The bathroom door opened.

David sat up abruptly, bringing his knees up and laying his arms on them. “Oh, hi,” he said.

“Good morning,” Patrick said cheerfully. He was dressed, but his hair was still wet and his feet were bare.

“Good morning.” David’s heart was pounding. He hadn’t been _masturbating,_ not really, and everything was well covered by the blankets, but yeah, that was … a close call.

Thank God they were going home. This whole charade was ridiculous and was turning into a farce.

 _Or a rom com,_ his brain whispered. Because his brain was a treacherous bitch.

David watched as Patrick went to his duffel bag to pack his pajamas away. He pulled out a blue henley and pulled it over his head.

“What is the breakfast situation here, do you think?” Patrick said. “Do we just ring the bell for the chambermaid, or what?”

“A chambermaid wouldn’t bring you _breakfast,”_ David said.

“That was a joke, David,” Patrick said. “I keep forgetting you actually know about all this.”

“All what?”

“Lifestyles of the rich and famous,” Patrick said.

“Oh, we didn’t have chambermaids,” David said. “I only know them from _Downton Abbey.”_ David felt a little defensive. He didn’t want Patrick to think that—well, that he used to be like Klair. 

He hadn’t been, right?

Patrick sat down on the bed next to David. He said, “Have you thought about _how_ we’ll get home?”

“No, I haven’t.” David realized he had no idea how they would even do that. Take a flight? Rent a car? Take a _bus?_

“Fuck,” he said. Not having money sucked.

“Alexis might have some ideas,” Patrick said.

“She always does,” David grumbled.

*

David was in hell.

Specifically, he was outside, in the fresh air, at the mercy of any bugs that might be flying around. He was still in Southampton, instead of on his way back to Canada.

Also: he was sitting on a fucking _horse._

Things had started going against him from the start. After breakfast (waffles, which he had to admit bordered on excellent), they had retreated to Alexis’s room, where Alexis argued loudly and strenuously against them leaving; at the same time Patrick was channeling a busy little travel agent, googling bus and train schedules and checking his Groupon for car rental coupons, sticking his tiny Android phone in David’s face to get his opinion on travel scenarios that got successively more ghastly.

So as Alexis was flailing her arms and saying it was _just typical_ for him to come all this way and then give up without even _trying,_ and Patrick was reading aloud some horrifying Yelp reviews of something called Larry Air, which had a direct flight from Hoboken to Elm Valley—insanity, he must have read that wrong—Klair burst in and announced they were all going horseback riding. And somehow, that’s just what they did.

So here he was. On a horse. Klair was beside him, and Albany and Patrick just ahead, and Alexis and Jitney leading the way. Sebastien wasn’t here. David didn’t know if he was staying at the house, or what. He hoped not.

The horse David was riding was called Hell on Wheels. And that wasn’t ominous or anything.

There was one solitary bright spot: from his current position, he had an excellent view of Patrick’s ass in a saddle in front of him. Patrick knew how to ride, because he’d been a camp counselor every summer, back in high school.

Of course he had.

David had managed to live his life blessedly free of acquiring any athletic talent, but he could ride a horse. The Roses had owned a couple of ponies, like every self-respecting wealthy parent who raised their children at arm’s length. They had also provided lessons. David had not been much of a rider; it was more Alexis’s wheelhouse, but he’d learned enough to get by.

Then, five years ago, he had climbed back on the horse (non-metaphorically) when he’d dated Tobey Maguire right after _Seabiscuit_ —also he’d been doing a lot of cocaine at the time, which very briefly made him fearless.

Klair rode up next to him. Her horse was big and jet-black and very intimidating; its name was Murder Most Foul, which also felt appropriate.

“So you and Patrick are engaged,” she smirked. “I’m surprised.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sebastien said you weren’t the settling down type,” she said.

 _I bet,_ David thought with a flash of bitterness. “Well, sometimes it just works out,” he said.

Klair looked ahead at Patrick. “Well, congrats. He’s got that sexy stableboy thing down to a T. And he can ride. He’s got an amazing seat.”

David looked over at her, about to protest this whole _sexy stableboy_ thing she was still harping on—of course Patrick was sexy, but he was _a lot more_ than that—and saw her eyes were fastened on Patrick’s ass. As he watched, she actually licked her lips. She was ogling his fiancé _right in front of him._ That was so disrespectful. 

“He rides _very_ well,” David said, and if it came out with a little gloating purr, that wasn’t intentional. Well. Only semi-intentional.

Klair cocked her head at him. “He should try jumping that hedge maze.” She nodded across the field. “You’re not supposed to, but, like, everyone does it. I mean, everyone who wants to call themselves a jumper, like, at all.” 

“Oh, have you done it?”

Klair paused. “No,” she said grudgingly.

David had an irrational urge to brag that Patrick could jump over any stupid hedge she cared to name, but he was better than that. Bragging about his fictitious fiancé’s athletic prowess was juvenile and beneath him. Barely.

David decided not to answer. His eyes found Patrick. He was talking to Albany with a friendly, open smile on his face, his body relaxed in the saddle, his ass moving in an enticing rhythm that put lots of different thoughts in David’s head. 

Well, one thought, really.

Patrick glanced back at David and smiled, and the smile, and the ass, and everything together was all very distracting, and somehow David’s reins slipped out of his fingers. He made an instinctive lunging movement to catch them, which made his leg bump against his horse’s side, and before he knew what was happening the horse was taking off like—well, like hell on wheels.

He had no time to appreciate the irony, as his horse raced to catch up to the others, and then flashed past. David caught a glimpse of their faces, all looking at him—Patrick’s face was white, mouth open in surprise, and Alexis’s eyes were practically bugging out of her head. David’s horse accelerated and then veered off the path, across the field and straight for the hedge maze Klair had pointed out.

 _The reins, grab the reins,_ his brain said, but David’s hands were busy clinging to the horse’s neck and mane in a death’s grip, his body pressed to the horse’s back, as the hedge loomed closer and closer.

_This is it. This is how I die._

David felt the horse bunching up its muscles in readiness to jump, and then it was sailing over the hedge like it was nothing. By some miracle David stayed in the saddle as the horse landed with a jarring thump on the other side. The horse, who David now hated with the fire of thousand suns, turned and kept going without so much as a pause, plunging further into the maze.

David’s brain was monotonously repeating _fuck fuck fuck_ as the horse continued to run, but the twists and turns of the maze mercifully slowed it down to the point where David was able to grope with one hand and catch hold of the dangling reins. He got them sorted so there was one in each hand—and it was so hard, why was it so fucking _hard?_ —took a firm grip, and pulled backward with all his might.

The horse slowed, and stopped. 

David took several gulping breaths, as the horse bent down and began placidly gnawing on the grass.

David took hold of the pommel and awkwardly swung his leg over and off. He stood motionless, holding the saddle, trembling, feeling sick. 

Everything was quiet. He was in the middle of a fucking maze with no idea how he was going to get back to the others or even find his way out, but at the moment he could only try to stay upright and marvel that he was alive.

Then there was a crashing noise behind him and the sound of hooves and he heard “David!” 

It was Patrick’s voice. David wanted to cry with relief.

“Here! I’m here, Patrick!” he shouted, and his horse shied a little at the sudden sound. David grabbed the reins and held the horse in place.

“No,” he told him sternly. “I will not accept that.”

Patrick came around a corner of the maze and rode up to David, pulling back on the reins and dismounting at the same time like a fucking Jane Austen hero. He caught hold of David, babbling out, “Are you okay? oh my God, David, tell me you’re okay—”

“I’m okay, I’m okay. I mean—I’m not, obviously. I’m _traumatized,_ but,” David said.

Patrick’s hands were touching and feeling him all over, as if looking for broken bones, and David was really very fine with that. Patrick was here, and it was the most comforting thing in the world. David still felt faint and his legs were shaky and trembling, so he did the only logical thing, which was wrap his arms around Patrick’s sturdy shoulders and bury his face in his neck.

Patrick’s arms came up and circled around his back, strong and sure. “God, David, when I saw you go over that hedge—” His arms tightened around him.

David felt his trembling start to subside. He sighed and relaxed his body against Patrick’s.

“What happened? Did the horse bolt?” Patrick asked.

David lifted his head. “I got, um, distracted,”— _by your stupid sexy ass and your stupid cute smile_ —“and I dropped the reins, and I leaned forward to grab them and this fucking racehorse went off like a rocket.”

“Jesus,” Patrick said. “You could have been killed.”

David shuddered. “Yeah.”

Patrick was still holding him firmly around the waist, and David sure wasn’t going to be the first one to let go. Would it be weird to start just, like, stroking Patrick’s shoulders? It would probably be weird. But he really, really wanted to. He moved his hands a little, like he was adjusting his grip.

Patrick said in a different tone, “So, I’m pretty sure Klair thinks you’re a badass now.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean, I didn’t stick around to listen, but she was cheering you on. She seemed very impressed.”

The irony of that was truly breathtaking. “That’s really fucked up,” David said.

Patrick laughed. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re all right.” Patrick’s hands stroked soothingly up David’s back. He said, “I think the others are coming too. Are you okay? Feel up to facing them?”

“Still very shaky,” David murmured, inching closer.

Patrick’s arms tightened around him. He said, “You shouldn’t have to ride back to the house. We’ll get Klair to send a car or something.” There was a sound of hooves in the distance, and Patrick said, “Here they come. I’ll ask Klair.”

Klair. David had a thought, a spark of an idea.

Klair thought David was a _badass._ Which he was, obviously—if you were talking about his eye for color palettes or his ability to pair scents. But that’s not what Klair thought. Klair thought he was some kind of daredevil. Which was ridiculous. But.

Maybe they could use that, somehow. Maybe there was a chance, a slim chance, that this weekend wasn’t a total loss.

Patrick said, “David?”

David said, “Um, so I have an idea here.” He looked up and saw the others were almost upon them. “Just—follow my lead.”

“Oh my God, David, you’re alive,” Alexis said as they rode up. “Are you okay?"

David schooled his face into a bored expression. He looked up. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he said.

Alexis made a face. “Well, excuse me for being worried about you.”

“That was fucking crazy, David, you are so fucking crazy right now,” Klair said.

David waved a hand. “Please,” he said.

“David,” Klair said. “There is a jumping course over by the beach that you will freaking love. Let’s go there, like right now. It’s so fun to do with someone else and none of these bitches can jump well enough.” She waved at the others. 

David studied his nails, buying time. There was no way in fucking hell he was doing anything of the sort. He needed to find an excuse, but something that didn’t make him look like a coward.

“David!” Klair said, her voice rising to a demand.

David looked up. He laughed dismissively. “A course? I don’t think so,” he said. He turned to Patrick and smiled into his eyes. “No, my fiancé and I need to get back to the house. Don’t we, honey?”

He put a hand on Patrick’s neck, trailed it up to cup his cheek. Patrick leaned in to the touch. His eyes were glowing with soft heat. He said, “Whatever you say, David,” with a husky timbre in his voice.

God, he was good. 

“Oh, get a room,” Alexis said, obviously playing along. She looked highly amused.

“Fine,” Klair pouted.

“We’ll be heading back, then,” David said. “The rest of you can do whatever.” He was aiming for airy and missed it by a mile, but he hoped it was close enough.

David reluctantly stepped out of Patrick’s arms and turned back to the horse. He could do this. He steeled every nerve in his body and put his foot in the saddle. Then he felt Patrick’s hands steadying him, his competent, camp counselor hands, one on his side and the other under his thigh, as he swung himself back onto Hell on Wheels. 

David lifted his chin and gathered the reins. Patrick remounted his horse, and they both turned and cantered away. 

“Ciao,” David said, waggling his fingers at Klair as they rode past. He could see Alexis biting back a smile.

As soon as they were out of earshot, David said, “So, I hope you know your way out of his fucking maze, because it would be really embarrassing to have to go back for directions right now.”

Patrick smiled. “I’ll get you there, David.”

And he would, David knew he would.

*

Back in their room, David cleared his throat and said, “So. I’m sorry to, uh, spring that on you.” 

“Spring what on me?”

“The, you know—back there.” David waved a hand.

“It’s okay,” Patrick said. “It was quick thinking on your part.”

David wasn’t sure if it was really okay, but he nodded. Having a fake fiancé was very complicated.

Patrick said, “I was thinking about what you said last night, about power. And it seems to me that what just happened changes things."

“I don’t know, maybe,” David said, even though he’d been thinking the same thing.

“So I don’t claim to be good at analyzing people—” Patrick said.

“I’m not either. I hate people,” David said.

“But it feels like one thing Klair actually cares about is taking risks? There was that situation in Uzbekistan. And now, as soon she saw what you did today, she thinks you’re John Wayne—”

“Viggo Mortensen,” David interrupted. “John Wayne was an asshole.”

“Aragorn son of Arathorn, on his faithful horse Brego,” Patrick said, the corner of his mouth curling up.

David groaned. “You would know those movies. You’ve probably read the books, too.” 

Patrick’s mouth broke out into a full smile. “Of course I have. I’m surprised you know it,” he said.

David waved a hand. “I’ve seen the _movies._ The hobbits were irritating, but I’ll sit through them to see Viggo and Liv on horseback.”

“You don’t like hobbits? But second breakfast, David. Elevenses.”

“I’m not saying they didn’t have some good ideas,” David said grudgingly, and Patrick laughed.

David’s phone beeped. It was a text from Alexis. _On our way up,_ it said. _Act like you were just having sex._

“Fuck,” David said. “They’re coming. We have to—we have to make it look like—”

They looked at each other. Then Patrick toed off his shoes and then reached down to pull off his socks, hopping first on one foot and then the other. David sat down on the bed to unlace his shoes.

Patrick yanked off his henley and threw it on the floor, revealing the t-shirt underneath. “Take off your sweater,” he said.

David slipped his shoes off and tucked his socks in them. Then he stood up, carefully removed his sweater, folded it neatly and placed it on the dresser. 

Patrick watched him. “Really?” he said. He was mussing up his hair and rubbing at his cheeks until they were adorably pink.

“I take care of my knits,” David said.

“At least mess up your hair or something,” Patrick said. “You look too perfect.”

David put his hands up to his hair protectively. “Do you know how insanely good the sex would have to be for me to let you mess up my hair?"

“Well,” Patrick said, quirking an eyebrow.

David said, “Oh my God,” and reached up and mussed up his hair. “Happy now?”

“Oh, very.” Patrick pulled back the covers and rumpled them. He tossed a pillow on the floor. He looked around. “Does this look enough like a den of sin?”

David said, “I think we’re good.” Patrick looked delectable in his fitted white t-shirt and jeans, his feet bare and his cheeks flushed.

“So, to be clear, we’re back to plan A, right?” Patrick said.

“I guess,” David said. “But, you realize the party moves to the yacht tonight?” If they moved to the yacht, they’d be maintaining this charade at much closer quarters. Sharing a small room.

Sharing a bed.

Patrick nodded and said, “I know. We’re grownups. We can manage, David.” There were footsteps out in the hallway. “I think I hear them.”

“Okay, um, I guess we should—” David said, stepping closer. Patrick’s arms slid around his waist, and David rested his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. This was starting to feel way too natural. 

The door banged open, and Klair and Alexis were in the doorway. “Sorry to _interrupt,”_ Alexis said. “Nice hair, David.”

Patrick reached up and smoothed David’s hair back. “Sorry, that’s my fault,” he said, smiling into David’s eyes. These blasts of concentrated sweet flirtatiousness, all aimed in his direction, were going to kill him.

“Oh, um, thanks,” David said, resisting the urge to tilt his head back into Patrick’s touch.

Klair said, “Alexis just told me you’re planning to leave today!” She marched across the room and slid herself between David and Patrick, pulling David away. “I won’t let you, I’m kidnapping you.” Klair latched her arms around his neck. “This is me forcing you to stay.”

“Mm, is it?” David said. Well. This was a good sign, right?

Klair stood on tiptoe to put her lips to his ear. She whispered, “Please stay.” She pouted a little, keeping her face very close to his.

He tried to figure out how to play this. He shouldn’t sound too eager, he decided. “Well, obviously, I’ll have to discuss it with my boyfriend,” he said, enjoying being able to say _boyfriend._

“Fiancé,” Patrick corrected. David looked at him over Klair’s head. Patrick had his hands jammed in his pockets, and he looked annoyed. Definitely annoyed.

“Fiancé,” David agreed. He was confused. Hadn’t Patrick just said it was a good thing Klair liked him? Had David misunderstood? 

“Aaaannnnd,” Klair said, drawing out the syllable. She was still hanging on him, one arm looped around his neck. “You actually have to listen to me, David, because I can, like, literally kick your sister out into the street.” Her tone was playful, but David heard the steel underneath.

David looked over at Alexis, but her expression was shut tight, unreadable.

“What do you say, Patrick?” David said, pretending to consider. 

Patrick still looked annoyed, and now he also looked a little disgusted, but he said, “A yacht party could be fun.”

David looked into Klair’s face, so close to his. She fluttered her eyelashes.

“I suppose we can be persuaded,” he said, giving it a slightly haughty flair.

Klair looked satisfied. She gave him a final squeeze around his neck and then slid away. She said, “Pack your bags, bitches. Boat leaves in half an hour!” as she went out.

“Ugh,” David said. “Is she always so rude?” It was rhetorical. Obviously, she was.

“That was very rude,” Patrick said, still sounding very annoyed. “She was hanging all over you, right in front of me.”

Alexis gave him an amused glance. “Sorry, Patrick, I guess you’ve been replaced.”

“No, that’s—” He broke off. “Yes. I had a good run as the sexy stableboy, but clearly it’s over.” 

“I don’t know about that,” David grumbled. “She was still talking about it this morning."

“Well, she’s very fickle, if you hadn’t noticed,” Alexis said. “That reminds me, I’ve got to nag her again about those marketing proofs.”

David said, “I’m surprised she doesn’t just ask you to send them. She doesn’t seem to have a really strong work ethic.”

“Oh, she won’t let me talk to the client at all. I think she’s super paranoid that I’ll try to cut her out or something. She keeps all the proofs and everything locked up on her laptop.”

“Cut her out? Why would she think that?”

“Because that’s what _she_ did. She went around her stepmom to get this project.” Alexis lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s for Kylie Jenner, for when she launches her makeup line. Klair is hoping to score an invite to the Kardashian's Fourth of July party in Mykonos.”

“Oh, she told me,” David said. 

“Really? Ugh! God, I swear, she cannot keep a secret, like, at all,” Alexis said.

“Kylie Jenner is a pretty big deal, Alexis,” Patrick said.

“Mm, perhaps.” Alexis put one hand under her chin and gave a little shimmy. Then she said, “I’ll leave you two _fiancés_ to get ready. Yacht party!” She waggled her hands back and forth, indicating _fun._

David grimaced. “Alexis, this is not fun. Our whole business is on the line, and we’ve got this,” he gestured between him and Patrick, “web of lies to maintain.”

She said, “I once spent an entire month impersonating the granddaughter of Nicholas II, and I don’t even speak Russian! I think you can do this. Patrick, you can pretend David is the love of your life for one tiny little weekend, right?”

Patrick pursed his lips. “Well, I did a lot of acting in high school. Might be a bit of a stretch, but—”

David narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you joking right now? Really?” 

Patrick spread out his hands, his little upside down smile on his face. If he could tease, he obviously wasn’t too dismayed by all of this. David relaxed a little.

Alexis said, “And David, since you’ve dated basically everyone, acting like you’re head over heels for this little button will be a. Piece. Of. Cake!” She tapped David on his nose for the last three words. He batted her hand away. 

“Mmkay, you can go now,” he said. 

When Alexis was gone, David asked Patrick, “Are you sure this is okay?” He couldn’t shake the feeling that even having to pretend to be in love with him was a hardship beyond what any person should have to bear.

“Of course,” Patrick said. He opened up his duffel and started throwing his clothes in it.

“You’re, um, good at this,” David said.

“Packing?”

“God, no,” David said. He could see Patrick’s packing technique was horrifyingly careless, even considering his Sears-themed wardrobe. “I mean, acting. Being a fiancé. You’re good at it.”

Patrick looked up. “Oh, thanks. Actually, I’ve—well, I was engaged. Before.”

“What, really?” David said. Patrick hadn’t shared much about his life before Schitt’s Creek.

“Yes. Rachel was my high school girlfriend, and we just—we were kind of on and off for years, and eventually we got engaged."

Rachel? “But I thought you said …” David trailed off, not sure if it was rude to ask. 

“That I’m gay? Yeah. That’s, um, kind of the main reason I broke it off and moved away.”

“Ah,” David said. “This was a—a recent realization then?”

Patrick looked embarrassed, and uncertain, and as vulnerable as David had ever seen him. “A year ago? I’ve gone on some dates since then, but nothing too serious. With guys, I mean." 

“Forgive me for pointing it out, but wouldn’t Toronto have been a more logical place to move to than Schitt’s Creek, to explore your gay identity?”

Patrick smiled. “I can’t believe you’d knock the Dude Cave like that, David.”

“Um.” The image of Patrick at the Dude Cave short-circuited David’s brain. He wanted to ask more, but he couldn’t think of how without sounding like, well, sounding like he had an unseemly interest in every detail of Patrick’s gay journey. Which he did.

Patrick went back to his duffel, his usual expression of calm amusement back in place. “Now get packing, David. The _Klair Sailing_ awaits."

*

Klair’s yacht was decent, as yachts went. David wasn’t really a yacht guy, to be honest. He wasn’t really into the whole _revealing his body_ thing at poolside yacht parties. Even when he’d had all the time and money in the world, the upkeep on his body hair had been exhausting. Now that he did _not_ have all the time and money in the world, there was no way he was showing the world his uncurated chest hair, and the stomach that was softer than he liked.

Luckily he had the perfect excuse not to—he had not packed a bathing suit. Neither had Patrick. When Alexis had suggested maybe they could borrow one from someone, he snapped, “What is this, prison?” and that was the end of that. 

A steward showed them to their room. It was small. Very small. The space was dominated by the bed, which was—well, it was technically a double, David supposed.

David snuck an apprehensive look at Patrick. Patrick was looking at the bed too. David groped for what David-without-a-crush would say. Would he make a joke of some kind, maybe? About hoping Patrick didn’t kick, maybe? But that just made David think of Patrick’s thick thighs, like, _right next_ to him in this bed, and that was not a good place for his brain to go. 

The silence stretched out. It was getting awkward. _Just say something, anything,_ David told himself.

Before he could, Patrick said, “This is fine.” 

“Yes, yep, mm hm, absolutely fine,” David agreed quickly.

Patrick said, “It will be just like a slumber party, right?”

“Yes, exactly,” David said. “A slumber party. That’s not weird.” 

“I used to have them all the time, with my cousins.”

David said, “Mm, I didn’t, actually? My parents weren’t into that. But I did have one with the Olson twins, when we were all in kindergarten together. They both snored like freight trains all night, and that just,” he waved a hand, “you know, turned me off the whole concept."

Patrick laughed. “Understandable,” he said. The awkward moment passed. 

It was going to be fine, absolutely fine. David could do this. No problem.

*

They went to the deck for pre-dinner drinks, and David’s confidence plummeted immediately when he saw Sebastien leaning on the railing. Great. David had hoped, when he didn’t see him at the house today, that he wasn’t coming on the yacht.

Klair was by the pool with Albany, Jitney, and Alexis. They were all in bathing suits. Klair seemed to be directing the others, screaming at Albany and telling all three of them where to sit or stand.

David pointed them out to Patrick. “I’ll just see what’s going on,” Patrick said.

“Be subtle,” David called after him.

David’s phone buzzed. It was a group text from Alexis, to Patrick and him. _Klair is doing an instagram live. Do not interrupt. She is Britney level insane about it,_ it said.

David turned to go after Patrick, but he saw Patrick was looking at his phone too. At the same moment, Sebastien’s voice was suddenly at David’s shoulder. “Klair told me you were going to join us this weekend, David. I’m pleased, just so pleased, that you’ve chosen to stay on.”

David’s immediate instinct was to flee, but that made him feel pathetic. Sebastien was Klair’s business manager. He might be a useful person to talk to. David could have a conversation without falling apart. “Well,” he began.

Sebastien interrupted smoothly, “When I saw you yesterday, it brought back so many memories.” His hand ghosted down David’s cheek. “You know, I always hoped we would run into each other again.”

David leaned away. “I’m with someone, remember?” he said, feeling a rush of gratitude to Patrick for the charade. 

Sebastien smiled. “When has that ever stopped you, David?”

David said, “I’m engaged. I’m not—I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

“Really?” Sebastien said. “I’m disappointed that you would allow someone to limit the sensual side of your life, David.”

David was silent. Sebastien had always had a way of twisting things, convincing David he didn’t actually mean what he just said, that he actually meant the opposite, and making it all sound so reasonable that David felt compelled to agree. Because of that, David had never been able to parse exactly what he had freely chosen to do when he was with Sebastien, versus what Sebastien had forced him into. 

The memory of those months pulled at him, like being dragged down in murky water. David had always been openminded when it came to sex, and he hadn't exactly been picky back then about who he did it with, but Sebastien had liked to find the things that David didn’t like, his few hard boundaries, and push him exactly there, and then push him a little further; Sebastien liked to share him, use him as a bargaining chip with friends he was trying to curry favor with; he liked to watch while someone fucked him or hurt him; and David had let it happen; he’d even gone further, sometimes, done more than he was asked, just to hear Sebastien purr, _There’s no one like you, David._ David had basked in the warmth of that approval, which had reminded him so much of love.

He suddenly didn’t care if Sebastien had useful information. He had to get away, now. He groped for an excuse, saying, “Well, Patrick is very possessive, so, um, yeah. I’ve been talking to you too long,” he said, and fled.

He made a beeline for Patrick, who was talking to a man in ill-fitting Valentino. “Excuse me, can I steal my fiancé?” David asked. He pulled Patrick aside.

“Hi,” David said. “Hug me or grab me or something, quick.”

Patrick’s arms encircled David’s waist with gratifying speed. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Sebastien was—I don’t know.” David fluttered his hands in the air and then brought them down to rest on Patrick’s shoulders, which felt solid and strong. Comforting. _We’re engaged, I can touch his shoulders._

Patrick glanced over at Sebastien. He squeezed David more tightly. “What did he do?”

“Nothing. I mean, his usual bullshit. I might have suggested that you’re a little, uh, possessive.”

“Possessive, huh?” Patrick said. He put his hand on the back of David’s head and pulled him in so their mouths were just inches apart. Then he whispered, “I’m going to kiss you, okay?” and David had just enough time to say, “Okay” as Patrick was bringing his mouth to his. The kiss was hardly anything, just a quick press of lips, Patrick’s hand firm on the back of his neck. That brief taste, though, was absolutely tantalizing; David wanted more, wanted to taste Patrick again, put his mouth back on his, kiss him until they were both breathless.

Instead, David slotted himself into Patrick’s side, getting as close as he dared. _We’re engaged, I can do this._

Patrick murmured, “So what exactly did you tell him?”

David said, “I told him that I shouldn’t talk to him too much, you might get mad.”

Patrick said, “Huh.”

“What?” David asked.

“Nothing. It’s just, I would never try to control who you talk to, David.”

“Well, okay, but—I mean, I was just saying whatever. I was trying to get away from him.”

“Well, of course that’s understandable.” Patrick bit down on his lip. “But, I mean, does he think I don’t trust you now? Because I trust you, David. You wouldn’t cheat on me.”

David was confused. This was not how he’d expected Patrick to react. “Um, well, of course not, but—that’s not actually the point, though.”

“You’re a very honest and loyal person. You know that, right?”

David glowed a little. “Oh. Well, that’s a nice thing to say.” He couldn’t help stroking Patrick’s shoulders a little more.

Patrick still looked troubled. He said, “I just don’t like the idea that he thinks—that now he’ll think I don’t treat you well.”

“Believe me, it would be par for the course.”

At that, Patrick actually looked upset. “Okay, but. All the more reason. If we’re engaged, if we’re getting married—”

“All I meant was—” What had he meant? David felt like he was losing the thread here. Were they really getting into an argument about how Patrick was treating him in their fake relationship?

Patrick went on earnestly, “You deserve someone who treats you well, David. You deserve the best.”

Was David going to argue with that? He was not. He inched a little closer. Patrick’s arm tightened around him. He kissed his temple.

“Let’s get something to drink,” Patrick said. “Also, I think they have bacon-wrapped shrimp.”

“Um, why was I not informed of this immediately?”

Patrick got David some shrimp, and asparagus tarts, and cheese puffs, and laughed at how much David enjoyed them. Klair was still busy with her Instagram Live. David couldn’t talk to her tonight. It was a beautiful evening, warm with a hint of breeze off the water. It was easy to forget why they were here, to forget everything but Patrick’s arm around his waist, his hand stroking up his back, his lips gentle against his cheek. David let his hands wander more and more to Patrick’s arms and shoulders, touching them and caressing them like he’d wanted to do for so long. He couldn’t help preening a little, couldn’t help enjoying this; enjoying all these people—not just Sebastien, all of them—seeing him engaged and happy, a devoted fiancé on his arm.

Someone popped a bottle of champagne, and Patrick went to get them each a glass. They clinked glasses, and drank, and the fizz on David’s tongue felt dangerously like a celebration, like a wedding, like falling in love.

*

Later, much later, after way too many glasses of champagne, David was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. He’d changed into his sleep clothes and stumbled his way through a sloppy version of his skincare routine. _Sober up,_ he told himself. _Don’t be stupid._ Mirror David looked back at him muzzily, inspiring no confidence.

When he came out Patrick was in bed already.

“I took this side,” Patrick said. “Do you have a side?”

David said, “I’ve been sleeping in a twin bed for the last year or so? It doesn’t have sides. So, this is fine.”

David snapped off the light. He lifted the covers and slid under them. He usually slept on his left side, but that would involve facing Patrick, and that felt way too intimate. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Their shoulders were brushing together.

“Good night, David,” Patrick said. “I’ll try not to snore like the Olson twins.”

“Mm, I’d appreciate that,” David said. “Good night.”

David lay, looking at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of Patrick’s body, feeling his arm brushing against his, listening to his soft breathing. David imagined what it would be like to cuddle up against him, to press the whole length of his body against the whole length of Patrick’s, and to feel Patrick slip his arms around him, to find the warmth of his mouth in the dark, and kiss and kiss and kiss. And then— 

_Stop._

What if he went to sleep with these thoughts in his mind, and his body did—who knows what, in his sleep. He tried to think non-sexy thoughts: raw chicken skin, Roland sticking his hand in a bowl of melted cheese, walking in on his parents having sex. 

_Ew._

Good. This was good. 

He thought about Rose Apothecary. He thought about laying out the products. Lips balms at the register, lotions and soaps lined up in precise rows on display tables. Candles lining one wall, arranged by scent. Baskets on shelves filled with handmade paper, books bound by hand.

He felt himself start to relax.

 _You deserve the best,_ Patrick had said. What a thing for him to say, what a thing for him to think. But now, in the floaty edge between awake and asleep, with Patrick’s comforting presence beside him, David thought maybe he could believe it. Or, at least, in this weekend that was all about pretending, he could pretend to—and that was almost as good.


	4. Pool party

When David woke up, he was on his side, and there was a delicious press of warmth all along his back and a weight slung over his chest. As he came fully awake, he sorted out that Patrick’s arm was draped over him, and Patrick’s body was pressed up against David’s back, spooning.

David held himself still, very still, reveling in the feel of Patrick’s body against his. He felt a little guilty for enjoying this—this stealth cuddling, but not guilty enough to move away.

Patrick shifted behind him, and David held his breath, wondering if Patrick was waking up. But he just pulled David a little closer, a little more securely against him, and then his breathing evened out again. 

But now that Patrick was holding him even closer, David felt something else, a hard something, poking against his ass.

Oh God. Patrick’s morning wood. Well. David should definitely move away now. He _would_ move away. In just a minute.

David continued to lay as still as he could, but the teasing pressure against his ass meant his cock was waking up too and starting to throb; he ached to move, to press his ass back just a little against that hardness, to feel the shape and size of it a little more. Patrick’s _cock._ Right there. God.

Okay. This wasn’t right. Patrick was asleep, and David was perving on him like this. He scooted away, gently, and felt Patrick stirring awake.

There was a moment, when Patrick was still half asleep, that David felt a fleeting press forward of Patrick’s hips, a teasing pressure—and then Patrick was yanking himself away, practically flinging himself over to the other side of the bed. “Jesus, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry, David.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” David said, sitting up and turning to face him. “You were asleep, it’s okay.”

He reached out instinctively but then realized that might not be the best idea, so he patted the air a little and then pulled his hands back and clasped them together.

Patrick scrubbed his hands over his face. He looked up at David with a sheepish smile, looking flushed and sleep rumpled, his hair in disarray, and so sexy David wanted to die. Patrick said, “Can you maybe erase the last ten minutes from your memory?”

 _Not a chance._ “Of course,” David said graciously. 

“Do you want to, um, shower first?” Patrick said.

“Sure,” David said. “Give me a minute. I just need to, mm, wake up a bit.” 

That wasn’t the problem, of course. The problem was he, and his dick, were a little _too_ awake.

It was going to be a very long day.

*

After showers (wherein David gave himself a quick, utilitarian orgasm, in an attempt to school his mind away from all the inappropriate things it insisted on thinking), they went in search of breakfast, and found a spread set up as a buffet. 

They ate eggs and sausages and fresh-baked croissants, and David kind of hated how much he loved it. He didn’t like Klair even a little bit, he shouldn’t love her food so much. _She owes you twenty thousand dollars,_ he told himself. _You can eat her croissants._

Albany came drifting up the stairs, looking limp and hung over. She put a croissant on a plate and drooped into the chair opposite them. She began eating the croissant by pinching off little pieces and bringing them to her mouth. It was maddening, really, watching her murder a perfectly lovely pastry.

Patrick, meanwhile, had put down his knife and fork and was leaning back with his cup of tea, ignoring the perfectly good half croissant sitting on his plate. It was just _sitting there._ Maybe David could just—

He looked at Patrick. Patrick glanced at the croissant, raised his eyebrows and sipped his tea. “Did you want something, David?”

“No, no, nothing,” David said. “But—aren’t you going to eat that?”

“Mm, not sure. Why do you ask?” Patrick took another sip of his tea, peering at David over the rim of his cup.

David debated how pathetic his desire for a half-eaten croissant would make him look, and decided it was worth it. “Well, if you’re not, can I have it, please?”

Patrick put down his tea. “Just so I’m clear, David,” he said. “You want this half eaten thing, covered with my germs, when you could walk six paces and get a whole, fresh, non-germy one from the tray over there.”

David said, “Mm, but see, I want _yours.”_

“Why?”

David said with dignity, “Because croissants are delicious, and this one looks particularly delicious, and it’s right here, and I would like to to eat it.”

“Impeccable logic,” Patrick murmured, his lips curling up, and nudged his plate over. David picked up the croissant and popped it in his mouth. Flaky. Buttery. Delicious. He licked his fingers. Yup. Worth it.

Patrick’s eyes darted down to David’s mouth. A look passed over his face, too fleeting for David to analyze. Then he smiled. “Well, that croissant would have been half yours anyway, after we’re married,” he said.

David bit down on his laugh, and Albany said, “You guys are so happy together. It’s so cute.” She sounded wistful.

“Oh, well,” David said. He’d never had someone envy him for his _happiness_ before.

“So how did you guys meet?” she asked.

David looked over at Patrick. They hadn’t discussed backstory, and David wasn't sure if he could come up with a worthy scenario off the top of his head. Various rom com plots tumbled through his mind. They worked at a coffee shop together—they were rival newspaper reporters chasing the same story—Patrick asked him out on a bet. How the fuck did people actually meet?

Patrick smiled at David fondly. “Well, he came to my office to apply for his business license, and I thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.”

Oh, that was good. Yes. Use their actual background. David picked up the story. “I, however, was a little more concerned about my business, because he seemed to think my business plan was not well thought out, for some reason.”

“Yes, how could I possibly think that?” Patrick said, giving him a flicker of the same teasing smile—half irritating, half irresistible—David remembered from that day.

David went on, “And he was very, very snippy about it—”

Patrick sighed ruefully, looking upwards. “When all the time I was trying to flirt.”

David said, “But then he offered to help me with my business, and I took him up on it.”

“And I helped him as much as I possibly could, as much as he would let me—”

“Which was a _lot,”_ David put in.

“—in order to be close to him,” Patrick said.

“But all the while, I thought he was only interested in my business."

“Because I was too shy to make a move,” Patrick said.

David looked at Patrick and said tentatively, “Until one day—”

“One day,” Patrick said. “I got up my courage, and I asked him on a date.”

David tried to think how he might have reacted, if all this were true, if Patrick had actually done that. He said, improvising, “Which I didn’t believe was a date, since I didn’t think he could possibly be interested in me, so I decided to bring my friend Stevie along.”

“And I was devastated, because I thought it meant he didn’t feel the same way about me,” Patrick said.

David said, “But then my friend left, and she said, you know, I think this might be a date—”

“Which it definitely was.”

David said, “—and I started to believe her. So then, at the end of the night—”

“He kissed me,” Patrick finished, smiling.

Albany said, sighing, “Oh, that’s _so_ romantic.”

David smiled back at Patrick, but he could feel his smile trembling a little. Patrick’s eyes were brimming with such soft affection, that, God, David could almost see it, a Patrick who liked him as much as he liked Patrick, who was too nervous to ask him out but who finally mustered up the courage, only to have David show up with a friend in tow. He felt a rush of protective affection for this hypothetical Patrick. David _would_ have kissed him at the end of the night; God, he would have kissed the fuck out of him.

David dropped his eyes, afraid of what Patrick might read in them.

Patrick cleared his throat and said, “Do you want to take a walk around the deck?”

“Sure,” David said quickly. Maybe a change of scene was a good idea. They got up.

“Bye,” Albany said in her high, soft voice, and when David glanced back he saw she had gone back to murdering her croissant.

He and Patrick walked out onto the deck, and David realized immediately that the change of scene was _not_ a good idea. Not when the scene was warm sunshine, a wisp of ocean breeze, an impossibly blue sky, and sparkling water spread out all around them.

As they walked, Patrick reached out and took his hand. There really wasn’t anyone around to see, but David figured Patrick was being Method. He thought of the way Patrick had touched him at the party last night, constantly, like it was automatic, sliding his arm around him, stroking his back, interlacing his fingers with his. David knew Patrick was just acting a part, the part of his devoted fiancé. It was just that he was really, unnervingly good at it.

His fake boyfriend was far more affectionate, David realized, than any of his real partners had ever been. 

A depressing thought. 

Also depressing: no matter what happened today, if they got the money back, or they didn’t, they were leaving tomorrow, and this charade would end. David would never again feel Patrick’s hand, warm and strong in his, never feel wrapped in warm affection like this, not from Patrick, likely not from anyone. 

But hadn’t he decided last night that this weekend was all about pretending? He could enjoy this now. He would enjoy this. He might as well, because it was all ending, tomorrow.

*

That evening, David held up two black sweaters, a Saint Laurent with thin white stripes across the top, and an ASOS mohair with broader white stripes. “Which one says ‘competent businessman with a dash of irreverent panache’?”

“You’re asking me?” Patrick said, smiling. “Wear whichever was more expensive."

David clucked his tongue. “How crass.” He decided on the ASOS. Thick stripes were bolder and more confident. He went into the bathroom to change.

He pulled the sweater on over his head and began examining his hair. “Alexis is confident about tonight,” he called through the door. “She says Klair is in a good mood and saving her carbs.”

“Good news,” Patrick called back. “What color shirt should _I_ wear?”

David watched his eyes light up in the mirror. Patrick was asking him for _style advice._ He opened the door. “Did you bring the cerulean one?” he said. “Or the periwinkle. Something in a lighter shade. Lighter tones will bring out the coppery glints in your hair and will give you a little more pop after sundown. And wear your Levi’s, not your Wranglers.”

Patrick looked taken aback. “David, I was only kidding.” 

“Oh,” David said. “Of course.” 

“I never knew you noticed my clothes.” 

“I notice all clothes,” David said loftily. He went back in the bathroom to finish touching up his hair.

When he came out and saw Patrick had chosen a baby blue button down. And he was wearing his Levi’s, which did his ass all the favors. Of course, that was why David had suggested them.

“I wasn’t sure which one was cerulean,” Patrick said.

“This is baby blue, actually?” David said. “But it works too.”

“Will I pop in the moonlight?”

David smiled. “Definitely.”

“Then that’s all I want."

Patrick opened the door, and motioned for David to go first. As Patrick followed, he said, “Oh, and David?”

“Yes?” David turned. Patrick was very close behind him.

“I don’t know if this sweater is the most expensive, but it looks really—nice. Soft.” Patrick touched David’s sleeve, gently. “You look—” he said.

“I look what?” David said, his voice coming out softer than he intended.

Patrick’s hand slid away. He said, “You look like a competent businessman with a dash of irreverent panache.”

David felt sure that wasn’t what Patrick had been about to say. Or was that just his wishful thinking? “Well. That was the intent,” he managed.

When they got to the party, Klair greeted them with glassy-eyed enthusiasm. She held up her drink. “David! Patrick! You need to catch up.” 

She was as happy as David had ever seen her. Was this _the window_ Alexis kept talking about, finally? Patrick said, “I’ll get us drinks. Do you want your usual, David?”

“Sure,” David said, not sure what Patrick thought his usual was.

Patrick went off to the bar, and Klair snaked her arm around David’s neck, pulling him down. “You’re a good horseback rider, David. Like, crazy good.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” David said.

“You know what we should do, David?” Klair asked. “I’ve always wanted to jump in the water from that lookout thing up there.” She pointed up to the mast, to a little seat or perch or something, impossibly high, where only someone who was absolutely insane would think of jumping or diving from. “Wouldn’t that be fun? You’re so crazy, let’s do it, David, let’s go diving.” She was leaning on him heavily, her elbow still crooked around his neck. “Let’s go diving, for real, David, for real.”

“Um,” David said. 

Patrick came back and gave David his drink: a gin martini, lots of vermouth, with a twist. His usual. And perfect.

David took a drink, trying to remain upright with Klair still clinging to him. “Um, drunk diving is never a good idea. Pretty sure it’s against the law.”

Klair snickered and said, “Drunk diving.” She started poking David with her fingers. “You’re funny. It’ll be fun, though, David, c’mon, let’s do it.”

“Do what?” Patrick asked.

“Klair thinks it would be _fun_ to jump in the water from that platform thing up there.” David pointed up at the mast.

Patrick looked up. “That is actually called the crow’s nest.”

David gave him a look to convey how utterly unhelpful that was. Patrick smiled and said, “Klair, don’t encourage him. I’m trying to convince David not to take so many chances anymore, stop living his life on the edge. Think of the children, David.”

 _What the fuck,_ David mouthed to Patrick. Klair said, “You guys have kids?”

“Our future children,” Patrick said. “David wants a family, but I keep telling him, not unless you settle down a little. I don’t want to be left a single father.”

David shook his head at him, but Patrick just smiled and took a sip of his drink.

Klair finally let go of her death’s grip on his neck. She pouted a little. “Ugh, you guys are no fun. No one is _fun._ Your sister’s not fun anymore. ‘Sorry, Klair, I have to work,’” she said, mimicking. “She’s always _working_ now.”

Patrick said, “Um, isn’t she working for you, though? At Klairify?”

“Yes,” Klair said. “God, Lex was so psyched when I offered her that job. I am like, so good at helping people. Like _so_ good.”

“I’m sure you are,” David said. He glanced at Patrick. Was this it, the opportunity they were looking for? Patrick gave an encouraging nod. David took a deep breath and said, “I know Alexis is so grateful to you. I just wish I could find someone to help _me.”_

Klair grabbed his arm. “Do you need help, David? What do you need?”

“Well, remember the business I’m about to open? The one I told you about? I got a little, um, stalled, by that family emergency I mentioned. If I had twenty thousand more in start up money, I could open the doors.” he paused, searching for the right words. _She wants to feel like lady bountiful._ “It would make my dream a reality,” he said, cringing inwardly. He saw Patrick bite down on a smile.

“David,” Klair said. “Babe. Your dream is going to be fucking reality. Fucking. Reality. Where’s my phone?”

David took a large swallow of his drink. All this intrigue was really bad for his stress levels. He said, “Um. Maybe your bag?”

She pointed at him. “That’s it.” She started groping in her bag. “Let’s see.” She fished it out and held it up triumphantly. “Yes! I’ll wire it to you. Who’s your broker?”

Shit. David said, “Oh, I’m, um, actually between brokers—”

“I’ve got the account info right here,” Patrick said. He took out his ancient little phone, and David gave him a grateful look. Of course, Patrick was prepared for this.

Patrick and Klair sat down and bent their heads together, phones in hand, and David watched them. He took another swallow of his drink. This was happening. This was really happening.

“What’s going on?” said a voice, and David looked up. It was Sebastien. 

“Babe!” Klair said, setting her phone down to stand up and give Sebastien air kisses. “I’m making David’s _dream come true.”_ She waggled her fingers in David’s direction. 

“Oh,” Sebastien said. “I wonder, is that the right path for you right now? Or for him?”

“Shut up, you’re no fun,” Klair said, pouting. But she made no move to go back to her phone.

David glanced at Patrick, who was still sitting, his phone in his hand. He looked worried, too. David wanted to scream and throw things. Fucking Sebastien. Why did he have to walk up in that moment?

Patrick said, “I think Klair knows her own mind. Don’t you, Klair?” 

Oh, that was good. What had Alexis said? _Klair might do it just because Sebastien tells her not to._ David said, “Mm, yes, Sebastien, is this you trying to make decisions for other people again?”

Klair said, “Yeah, babe. I know my own mind. I like to help people. I’m a fucking fairy godmother.”

Sebastien smiled. He said, “You are. But think of the importance, the satisfaction of working to achieve your dream on your own. You, Klair, you put in the hard work, the sweat from your own hands, the blood from your own heart, and you’ve made Klairify sing. Do you want to take that away from David?”

“Ohhhhh,” Klair said. “Yes, hard work is, like, super satisfying, David.”

The irony of these two people lecturing him on hard work was breathtaking. He opened his mouth to say—he wasn’t sure what. Fuck Sebastien. Fuck Klair. Fuck everything.

“David _has_ worked very hard,” Patrick said. “An infusion of startup money will make sure that hard work doesn’t go to waste.” 

“But it is a handout all the same,” Sebastien said smoothly. “Klair, you have a beautiful, generous heart. But the best way to help David is to give him the gift of achieving his dream through his own power.”

Klair nodded solemnly. “Babe. That’s, like, wisdom right there.” She picked up her phone. “I’m gonna tweet that.”

Sebastien looked at David and smiled. He said, “You were never one for claiming your power, were you, David? I seem to remember how much you liked to beg.”

Patrick stood up. “I think we’re done here.” His hand found David’s and closed over it in firm grip. He started tugging him away.

“Wait,” David said, and Patrick stopped. David figured he had nothing to lose now, so he looked at Sebastien and said, “So, speaking of handouts? Klair is actually the one who took one, from me. When she and Alexis and Albany were in jail in Uzbekistan, I sent them the bail money.”

Klair’s thumbs were tapping on her phone. She looked up. “Wait, what? Oh, yeah, the bail money! God, that whole week was, like, so crazy and random.”

David looked at Klair. “You said at the time that it was a loan, that you were going to pay the money back.”

“Did I? Mm, I don’t see it that way. I mean, you would have bailed out your sister anyway, so—” She looked down at her phone. “Sebby, look! Ten likes and two retweets already! Including Kourtney. That means Kim will see it, too.”

Sebastien didn’t answer. His eyes were on David, searching, almost eager; he seemed to be waiting for some kind of reaction. David had a sudden flash, a realization that Sebastien was waiting for David to turn into the needy mess he had always been.

Well, that was one thing he could do, anyway: deny him that satisfaction. Patrick’s hand was still holding his, and David gripped it like a lifeline as he tipped up his chin and looked at Sebastien steadily, saying nothing.

Klair turned away, eyes still down, looking at her phone. “C’mon Sebby, help me get ready for my Instagram story.”

Sebastien held David’s gaze for a moment longer, then turned away to follow Klair toward the pool. Klair was chattering away like she’d already forgotten about the whole thing, but David was savoring the disappointed look in Sebastien’s eyes. 

It was the only thing he had to savor, given the wreck of everything else. They had been _so close._

Patrick said, “We can still sue.”

David turned to look at Patrick. Patrick was watching Sebastien and Klair, a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

David said, “On what grounds?”

“A verbal contract is still a contract. If Alexis can produce witnesses that Klair said she would pay back the money, then maybe—”

David said, “I don’t think that’s—um, the best use of our time.”

Patrick burst out, “I just feel so helpless, David! I wish I could—I want to do something here. I came along to help you. And I haven’t been able to help you at all.”

Patrick was still clutching David’s hand tightly, and David could see his other hand was clenched into a fist. Seeing how worked up Patrick was somehow made David feel a little better. “It was always a long shot,” he said. “And—you are helping.” David squeezed his hand. “You’re helping a lot.”

“You’re very calm about this,” Patrick said.

“I’m not, I’m really not. I’m furious. I guess I’m just glad—I’m glad I don’t have to kiss up to them anymore. I can go back to being insufferably rude, which is my comfort zone.”

Patrick laughed a little. “David, you’re amazing.” 

Alexis approached. “I saw you talking to Klair,” she said. “So?”

“No luck,” David said flatly. He felt wrung out. He did not feel like rehashing with Alexis, hearing her tell him she did something wrong, or trying to plan their next step, or whatever.

“It was close,” Patrick said. “She was ready to transfer the money, but Sebastien came up and talked her out of it.”

Alexis said, “Well, then, we wait for Sebastien to leave her alone, and then you approach her again.”

David shook his head. “Face it, Alexis, this thing is over,” he said.

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

Alexis said, “You keep wanting to give up! I’m not giving up.”

“Well, that’s great, considering this is your fault to begin with.”

“David,” Patrick said.

“It is,” David said. “Why not say it?”

Alexis said, “I know, okay? I know you’re mad at me over the money—”

David interrupted, “It’s not just the money! It’s why we’re even here to begin with!” And okay, this was definitely not the time to get into this. But whatever, it was out now.

Alexis said, “Why we’re here? We’re all here for the same reason. To get your money back.”

“Yes, that’s why _you’re_ here. Why you _should_ be here. But I’m only here because you dragged me along to—to do your work for you.”

Alexis said, “We had a plan. And we’re executing that plan. And excuse me for thinking you might like to get out of town for a bit? That you might like to stay in a nice room and eat some good food for once?”

“Oh, don’t do me any favors,” David said.

Alexis said, “David, you _begged_ me to take you with me when I left.”

“No, I didn’t,” David said. He had, though. He knew he had. But, that was before. “Things are different now.”

“How?” Alexis said.

Patrick said, “Hey, I’ll get us another drink, okay? Leave you guys to talk.” He gave David’s hand a last squeeze and then walked over to the bar. David watched him go, feeling bereft.

Alexis said, “How are they different, David?"

David turned back to her. “They just are. And you wouldn’t know. Because you’re not there. You’re never there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alexis said.

“You _left._ You _abandoned_ me as soon as you possibly could. Left me stuck there by myself. Dealing with Mom by myself. We’re supposed to _take turns._ We’ve always taken turns. That’s the deal.”

“Oh, she likes you better anyway.”

“She doesn’t.”

“She does.”

David threw up his hands. “Fine. Maybe. It doesn’t matter. It was my turn to take a selfish. And you ran away, you took a permanent selfish. Leaving me alone in the middle of nowhere.”

“I thought you said it was ‘different now.’” She made sarcastic air quotes.

“It is different! But that’s no thanks to you! You’re running around the world, having adventures, putting your life in danger _for fun,_ while I’m worrying about you every fucking day, wondering if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Alexis snapped.

“Well, I do.”

That seemed to silence Alexis for a minute. Then she said, “With everything you’ve seen here, do you really think I’m having fun?”

“Then why stay?”

“Because I have a job,” Alexis said.

David scoffed. “Klairify, really? That job is a joke. It’s a vanity company.”

“I know. It’s still my job.”

“Get a job somewhere else, if you want a job.”

“Who is going to hire me, David?”

“I don’t know. Lots of people.” David remembered his interview at the Blouse Barn, how it made him realize that he had no qualifications that a normal business would recognize. But, that was in Schitt’s Creek. And this was Alexis. She’d always been able to talk her way into anything.

“Oh, yeah, lots of people,” she said mockingly. “You want to point them in my direction? I _tried,_ David. I couldn’t even get an interview. I have nothing to put on a resume. I don’t even have a high school diploma.”

David said, “Um, yes you do. Pretty sure I remember going to your graduation in Switzerland.”

“Yeah,” Alexis huffed out. “You and Mom and Dad all went, and you didn’t even notice I wasn’t there. So that was super nice of all of you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you were there. Are you sure you weren’t there?”

“Of course I’m sure, David! I would remember my own graduation.”

“Hm,” David said. It had been so long since he’d seen Alexis be anything other than absolutely sure of herself. He was kind of at a loss here.

Alexis said, “That’s why I need to stay here. Klair has offered me a creative credit and part of the fee. If I can finish this project, I’ll have some money and something to put on my resume. Then I can move to New York and try to talk myself into a job somewhere. That’s why I’m staying. Because I don’t want _this_ to be my life forever.” She spread out her hands.

“You can always—” _come home,_ he was about to say, but his throat closed on it. Alexis would probably laugh at the idea. She wasn’t happy here, but she’d stayed. And maybe she wanted to leave, but coming back to be with him wasn’t even on her radar. She wanted to go to New York.

Well, who wouldn’t, given the chance?

Alexis glared at him. “What can I do, David? I’m all ears."

He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but then Klair’s voice, loud and sharp, came from over by the pool: “Jesus fucking Christ, get out of the frame, Albany! I’m filming!” followed by a shriek and a loud splash.

They turned to look, but it was hard to see with so many people standing around the pool. Then Klair started saying “She fell in, oh my God, she’s not coming up, oh my God oh my God make her come up,” in a long stream.

David and Alexis ran over, but they couldn’t see what was happening through the crowd.

David heard Patrick’s voice then, saying “I see her!” followed by a splash. Had Patrick dived in after her? In sudden panic, David pushed and forced his way through the crowd so he could get to the edge of the pool. 

“Did he go in?” he asked the girl next to him. “Did Patrick dive in?”

“Yeah,” the girl said.

David’s eyes searched the bottom of the pool, straining to see, but the water was too churned up for him to make anything out. It was eerily silent, everyone staring into the pool, the only sound the gentle sloshing of the water. David lived an eternity, waiting, and then Patrick resurfaced in a rush, holding Albany against his chest. Albany was coughing and taking in great gulps of air, David saw, and he felt sick with relief. Patrick held her with one arm while he swam with the other, toward the edge of the pool and the ladder. When he got there, hands reached down to take Albany from him. Suddenly everyone was talking, crowding around Albany.

They set her down as she coughed and coughed. David could see Alexis was in the center of the crowd around her. “Stand back, everybody, give her space!” Alexis said, her voice ringing out commandingly, and the crowd backed up.

She knelt down by Albany’s side.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Albany said between coughs.

David’s eyes darted back to Patrick, who was still in the pool, hanging on to the ladder, breathing heavily. He started to climb out, but he was weighed down by his wet clothes. David pushed through the people around him. “Excuse me,” he said loudly. “I need to get to my fiancé.” The crowd parted.

When he got to the ladder he leaned over to help Patrick climb out, pulling him up as he came up the ladder. 

When he was out, David said, “Are you okay? Oh my God, Patrick.” His hands fluttered to Patrick’s shoulders. “Let’s get you back to the room.”

Klair’s voice rang out. “That. Was. _Awesome!”_ she said. “I got it all on camera. All of it. Oh my God. I have a good chance of going viral with this.” Her thumbs flew over her phone.

“Fucking unbelievable,” David said. “Let’s get out of here.”

He and Patrick turned to go, but Klair came running over to them, phone held up in front of her. “This is my friend Patrick,” she said. “This sexy little cutie is the hero of the night. Patrick, tell my followers what was on your mind when you dove into the pool.”

“Oh, I really don’t—” Patrick said.

David broke in, saying evenly, “Get that phone the fuck away from him or I will throw it in the pool.”

Klair gave him a look and said, “Okay, editing _that_ out,” and then turned away, saying, “Let’s talk to my friend Albany! Albany, can you tell us what you were thinking when you nearly died?”

“How many people are watching?” Albany asked eagerly. 

“I guess she’s feeling better,” David said doubtfully. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Can you grab my shoes?” Patrick said. “I took them off before I dove in.” David decided not to mention that the rightful place for those particular shoes was definitely at the bottom of a pool. He grabbed the shoes and came back.

David felt protective as he maneuvered Patrick through the crowd, one hand on his shoulder, Patrick’s feet squelching audibly as he walked.

When they got to their room, David opened the door and guided Patrick in. “Um, let’s see,” David said. “Towels, I’ll get towels.”

“Thanks.”

David went into the bathroom and came out with a couple of towels. Patrick was still just standing there, dripping. The room wasn’t cold, but Patrick was shivering a little in all his wet clothes. His hair was plastered down, water droplets glistening on his face and his neck. His pale blue button down was nearly transparent and clinging to the curves of his shoulders and his arms and his chest. David could see his nipples standing up, clearly outlined against the wet fabric.

 _Not the time, David._ David wrapped one towel around Patrick’s shoulders and used another to start drying him off.

“Let me guess—you worked as a lifeguard too?” David said.

Patrick smiled sheepishly. “Yeah,” he said.

Patrick unbuttoned his shirt, while David patted at him, drying him off with the towel in his hands. He knew Patrick could do this himself, but David was unable to stop touching him; he wanted to take care of him, fix this, thank him for being here, for helping, for always making things better. Patrick had just _saved someone’s life_ and he was acting like it was just nothing. David was suddenly overwhelmed with how good Patrick was, how solid and reliable. David was so drawn to that solidity, that strength; it was seductive. But David also wanted Patrick to know that he didn’t have to be the strong one all the time, that David could take care of him too. Maybe that was ridiculous, it probably was; David being able to take care of anyone was ridiculous, let alone someone as capable as Patrick, but he felt it.

Patrick got his shirt unbuttoned; he peeled it off and let it drop to the floor. He still had a towel draped over his shoulders, but David could see a tantalizing stretch of bare chest in between the ends of the towel. Patrick was still shivering, and David wanted to wrap him up his arms. Instead he took the towel in his hands and rubbed at the newly bared skin of his upper arms. Patrick let him do it, making no move to take over. His eyes were cast down as David patted him dry, but then he looked up and met David’s gaze, and the look in his eyes was a little shy, a little uncertain. David’s hands slowed until he was just touching Patrick gently with the towel instead of drying him off. Patrick was so close to him, looking sweet and soft and uncharacteristically vulnerable, with his bare chest and his wet fluffed up hair and his pink cheeks and slightly parted lips.

“David,” Patrick whispered. David gazed back at him, helplessly caught by those warm brown eyes. 

They stayed suspended for a long moment, just looking at each other. Then David leaned down, and put his mouth on his.

He half expected—he didn’t know what—that Patrick would pull away, or push David away, tell him kindly that he wasn’t interested. But Patrick leaned in and tilted up his chin, and his lips were sweet and soft against David’s, gentle at first, slightly hesitant, and David focused on not pushing, keeping the kiss soft and undemanding, to let Patrick pull back if he wanted to. But Patrick made a little whimpering sound and his arms came around David’s waist, and he pulled him toward him, and David slid his hand up to cup his cheek and then the back of his neck; then Patrick pressed closer and his mouth opened hungrily, and David slipped his tongue into Patrick’s mouth and deepened the kiss, chasing the intoxicating taste of him.

Then Patrick gradually took control of the kiss, kissing David firmly and with growing confidence, his hands going up to the back of David’s head to tilt him the way he wanted him. David’s hands drifted down Patrick’s upper arms, then slid up underneath the towel around his shoulders, wanting to find and touch his bare skin. Patrick’s arms were strong and already so familiar from all the times Patrick had played the devoted fiancé this weekend, but this wasn’t that; that was fake, it was pretending, acting. But now Patrick was kissing him, and it was for real; it was real.

David, impatient to get more of Patrick, pushed the towel out of the way onto the floor. His hands roamed over Patrick’s back and shoulders, greedy to touch all that bare skin, the lovely curves of his body, his shoulders and arms. Patrick moved them both and pushed David against the wall; he pressed closer, deepening this kiss, pressing his body all the way up against David’s. And then—

“Sorry,” Patrick said, breaking away. “Jesus, David, I’m soaking wet.”

It was true; Patrick still had on his jeans, and they were very wet, and now David was wet too. David opened his mouth to say _I don’t care, kiss me some more,_ but then there was a knock at the door.

Patrick said, “You get the door. I should take a shower. I smell like chlorine.”

David nodded, resisting the urge to cling and beg Patrick to keep kissing him. “Okay,” he said.

Patrick took his face in his hands and gave him another quick, fierce kiss, and then went into the bathroom. David watched him go, admiring the way the wet denim clung to that incredible ass. David stood still for a moment, trying to take everything in; they had kissed. He had kissed Patrick, and Patrick had kissed him back.

There was another knock at the door. “Ugh, I’m coming,” David called out, and opened it. 

It was Alexis. “Can I talk to you?” she said.

“Sure.” He opened the door and let her in.

She said, “I was thinking about what you said.” She was twisting her hands together.

“Um, which part?” He was tired. His argument with Alexis already seemed like eons ago.

“I didn’t know you worried about me.”

“Well, I do.”

“When I left, you said the only thing that could be worse than being stranded in Schitt’s Creek would be having to share a room with me there.”

“I said a lot of things.” That day remained a tangled mass of anger and panic and desolation, and envy so strong he felt like it would choke him. He remembered how he had lashed out at her, in between bouts of pathetic begging. 

Alexis said, “Yeah, you did, David.”

“So did you,” David said. She had lashed back, plenty.

“Yeah.” Alexis bit down on her lip. She said, “But, when I was in jail in Uzbekistan, when I called you, I knew you would help me. If you possibly could.”

“Yeah.” Of course. 

“So, that situation was far beyond—I’m usually, like, pretty resourceful. But that was next level. I was scared, David.”

“Let me guess. It was Klair’s idea?”

“It was.” Alexis was silent for a moment. “I know she’s awful, okay? But when she found out I wanted to do PR, she offered me this job. I’m doing almost all the work, really, but I feel like—I feel like I’m good at it. I want to finish it.”

“Mm,” he said. “I can understand that.” And he could. And he was glad that Alexis had something that she felt that way about.

“Listen,” Alexis was twisting her hands again. “When the project is done, and I get my cut of the fee, I’ll give it to you. It won’t be the full twenty thousand, it’ll be more like seven or eight, but maybe it will help.”

Ridiculously, David felt like crying. He blinked a few times and then he said, “But you need it, don’t you, to move to New York?”

She went on, “Well, what if instead of going there I came and, like, stayed with you for awhile?” She shook out her hands and then clasped them together again.

David tried to ignore the river of relief and longing that ran through him. He said carefully, “We’ll talk about the money. I don’t know. But yeah, you can come visit. That sounds—that would be, um, yeah. I would like that.”

“Okay,” she said. 

“Okay, then,” he said.

They stood looking at each other for a moment. “Should we hug or something?” Alexis said.

“Let’s not go crazy,” David said. And she laughed, and he laughed too, and it was all a little too much, but in a good way.

Alexis looked around. “Where’s Patrick?” she said. 

_Patrick._ David’s brain, which had jumped tracks for a few minutes, immediately jumped back again. Patrick who he had just _kissed._ “Oh, um, he’s just taking a shower, because, you know, he got soaked, and the—the chlorine, so naturally he’s, um—” 

He closed his lips. He was babbling. That was a dead giveaway. Alexis would know something was up.

“Naturally he’s what?” Alexis said.

He tried to school his face in a neutral expression. “Naturally, he’s showering. Wouldn’t you?”

Alexis said, “You’re acting funny. Did something happen?”

God, she was like a bloodhound. He went on the offensive. “Um, a lot of things happened tonight, including your friend Klair trying to murder someone? So forgive me if I’m a little distracted,” he said.

Alexis pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, it’s not that. You look different.”

David looked down quickly. His pants were damp from where Patrick had pressed against him, but they were black, so he didn’t think it was noticeable. He touched his hair, and it seemed in place. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

Alexis’s face lit up in comprehension and a fair amount of evil glee. “Wait. Something happened between you and Patrick, didn’t it?”

“No, no. No. Why do you say that?”

She clapped her hands together. “I knew it!”

“Shut up,” he said, but he started smiling. He tucked his lips firmly between his teeth, but the smile kept wanting to break free.

“Come on, David, deets! Tell me all about it.”

“Um, not a chance,” David said, although actually he wanted to tell her more than anything. Then there was another knock at the door. He said, “What is this, Grand Central Station?” and went to open it. It was Albany. She’d changed out of her wet clothes, but her wet hair was still hanging down limply, making her eyes look huge and defenseless.

“Can I help you?” David said.

Albany said, “Um, hi. I came by to thank Patrick? For saving me?”

“He’s in the shower,” David said. “I’ll tell him you stopped by. Thanks so much.” He started to close the door.

“Oh, let her in, David,” Alexis said from behind him.

David sighed and opened the door. Now he and Alexis and Albany were all crowded in the small room. He folded his arms tightly, wishing they would all go away. He and Patrick had just _kissed._ This was huge and important, and these people just needed to leave, like, now. Especially Alexis. Especially everyone.

An awkward silence descended.

“So,” Alexis began, and then the bathroom door opened. Patrick poked his head out. “David, can you hand me—” he broke off when he saw Alexis and Albany. “Oh, hi.”

Patrick was partially obscured by the open door, but it was obvious he was only wearing a towel, wrapped around his waist. 

“Hello, Patrick,” Alexis said, with a lilting voice and a shit-eating grin.

Patrick nodded at Albany. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, thanks to you,” Albany said. She was giving Patrick a starry-eyed look, which was understandable, but very wrong. David guessed that Patrick wanted clothes, and scrambled to get his duffel and shove it at him.

Patrick had to open the door a little more to take the duffel. He was holding the towel loosely around his waist, and David’s eyes involuntarily dipped down—he saw a reddish-gold treasure trail, Jesus _Christ_ —before he managed to pull them up again to Patrick’s face, which looked bashful and amused in equal measure.

“Thanks,” Patrick said. “Uh, I’ll just be a minute,” and closed the door.

David stood still. _Get it together._ This was supposed to be his fiancé, it should not be a big deal for him to see him in a towel. David cleared his throat and turned around. Of course Alexis was looking right at him, smiling knowingly. She gave him a thumbs up, which he valiantly ignored.

Albany was staring at the floor. She pulled her cardigan down over her hands and was fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves, looking like a pathetic extra from Les Mis. She obviously planned to stay until she could thank Patrick in person.

“So did Klair post the, uh, video?” David said, just for something to say.

Albany looked up and flashed a smile. “Yeah,” she said. “She’s super stoked. Kourtney commented on it.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Glad ur ok’,” Albany said. “It was so exciting.”

“Mm. Riveting,” David said.

Patrick came out. He was dressed again, in another pair of jeans and a different blue shirt, cobalt.

“Patrick!” Albany launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. She said, “I wanted to thank you. I’ll never forget what you did as long as I live.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Patrick said, patting her back. David smiled. Patrick sounded like a character in an old western. _Just doing my job, ma’am._ He needed a hat to tip.

“It was everything,” Albany said. “You’ve been so nice to me. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.” She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to break the hug.

Alexis looked over at David and bit down on her lips and raised her eyebrows. She seemed vastly amused. _Fuck off,_ he mouthed.

“That’s a little extreme.” Patrick patted her back again. She was still clinging to him like a … like a barnacle. David shifted uneasily. Was this just what life was like for Patrick? An endless series of needy people throwing themselves at him, clinging to his strength, hoping to be rescued?

“I’m glad you’re okay. You should get some rest,” Patrick said. He patted her again and then shuffled a little, trying to gently break the embrace.

Albany took the hint and slid out of his arms, but then just stood there staring at the ground, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She fiddled with her sweater sleeves. David was starting to wish Patrick had left her at the bottom of the pool.

“So, um,” Albany said. “There’s something I, uh, found out? I kind of found out by accident, and I’ve been meaning to tell Alexis.” She glanced at Alexis. “And you all have been so nice to me, Patrick tonight, and I know I have Alexis and David to thank for getting us out of that jail.” She trailed off, looking at the ground again.

Patrick prompted, “So you’d like to tell us now?”

“Yeah.” 

“What is it?” Alexis said, a shade impatiently.

Albany glanced at Alexis and then back at Patrick. She seemed to think Patrick was the safest one to talk to. She said, “So you know this PR project Alexis is working on for Kylie?”

“Yes.”

“So Klair gave Alexis a job and everything, and Alexis is doing all the work. But Klair is planning to, um, fire her."

“Wait, what?” Alexis said sharply.

Albany looked alarmed, and Patrick said soothingly, “Can you explain that a little more?”

“Klair is planning to fire Alexis as soon as she finishes the work, not pay her, not give her credit, anything.”

“Wow,” Patrick said.

“Fucking figures,” David said.

“I cannot believe this,” Alexis said.

“Thank you for telling us,” Patrick said, because Albany was starting to look scared again.

“So, um, how long have you known about this?” Alexis held up one hand with her thumb and forefinger pressed together, as if she was pinching her disdain between her fingertips. “Do you think maybe you could have told me before I did ninety percent of the work?”

Albany bit her lip. “I know, I’m really sorry. I heard Klair talking to Sebastien a few weeks ago. He was making sure your name wasn’t anywhere on anything. I know I should have told you right away.”

“You think?” Alexis said. 

“Alexis, I really am sorry. Klair is kind of—um, I don’t like to make her mad. But after tonight—” She looked at Patrick again. “I knew I had to tell you.”

Alexis sighed. “Jesus,” she said. She rubbed her temples.

Patrick said to Albany, “Thank you for telling us. You did the right thing. Why don’t you go get some rest now? You’ve had a traumatic experience.” He smiled reassuringly.

“Okay,” Albany said, smiling shyly, and let Patrick usher her out.

“I thought, like, I knew her?” Alexis said. “Klair, I mean. I mean, I wasn’t under any illusions here. But I’ve done _everything_ on this project! And she’s going to fire me. I won’t have anything to show for it, no money, no experience, nothing.”

David said, “I’m sorry, Alexis. And seriously, don’t worry about—paying me back. You should just get out now. Come home with us.”

“Oh, no, I’m not taking this lying down. I won’t let her get away with this.” 

She looked positively dangerous. David said, “Um, you’re not going to—you know murder is illegal, right? I just spent twenty thousand dollars to keep you _out_ of jail.”

“I’m not going to murder her, David.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

She smiled a smile that was all teeth. “No, I am going to do something much, much worse.”


	5. International woman of mystery

This was a side of Alexis David had never seen. 

He’d known it existed, of course, but now he felt he was truly seeing, for the first time, the Alexis who successfully negotiated border disputes, escaped from sultans’ compounds, or played pool to win a friend’s freedom. 

She was intent, focused, and decisive, and he and Patrick were just naturally following her lead. David had to admit—to himself, not to Alexis—that he was impressed, and fiercely glad that even though Klair had succeeded in screwing him over, at least she wasn’t going to screw Alexis over too. 

Or at least—Alexis wasn’t going down without a fight.

David had no idea what Alexis was planning. She was talking a mile a minute to Patrick in front of him, and David should probably be paying attention too, but he’d lost the thread a while ago. Patrick was nodding, like what Alexis was saying wasn’t crazy, so that was a good sign.

Patrick, who David had _kissed_ a half hour ago.

He couldn’t read anything in Patrick’s expression. Patrick was acting much the same as usual, so David was trying to do the same. That was difficult, though, because now David knew what Patrick’s lips tasted like.

They hadn’t talked about it at all. They’d barely exchanged two words since it happened. What was Patrick thinking? Did he regret it? He probably regretted it.

David hoped he didn’t regret it.

Alexis turned back to David and said, “Are you getting all this, David?”

David said, “Um, yes? Actually, no. What?”

“David! This is important. We’re breaking into Klair’s room to steal her laptop. The reason she can cut me out is because I don’t have access to anything for the project. She’s been very careful to keep everything to herself, which should have made me suspicious, but here we are.” Alexis splayed out her fingers in sarcastic jazz hands, and David realized she was embarrassed she had let Klair take her by surprise.

“So what will stealing her laptop do?” 

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s the only copy of everything.”

Patrick said, “No backups? Surely she’s backing stuff up somewhere.”

Alexis said, “I really don’t think so. Is there a way you can tell? If we look at the laptop together?”

Patrick pursed his lips, the lips that David had just kissed. “Possibly,” he said. “I can check for an automatic backup program, anyway.”

“Perfect. So, Patrick will row the lifeboat to get me to Klair’s room, I’ll crawl in through the porthole and get the laptop. And David, you’ll keep Klair occupied.”

“Ugh. Really? Let me row. I can row,” David said. He wasn’t much for physical exertion that didn’t end with an orgasm, but he’d rather do something active than sit around with Klair.

Alexis laughed. “Good one, David. Why would I go with your spaghetti noodles when I can have these arms?” She tapped Patrick on his bicep. “Come on, Patrick, let’s go.”

David was indignant. “Spaghetti noodles?” 

Patrick tossed him an amused smile, and David smiled back, tentatively.

“Patrick, come on,” Alexis said, striding ahead.

Patrick kind of hesitated, looking back at David, and Alexis called Patrick’s name again, impatiently, and Patrick gave David a rueful little grin as he turned to follow. Patrick was really taking all this in stride. 

David trailed along at half speed. Alexis stopped when she got to a giant orange capsule that David supposed was the lifeboat. He’d been on plenty of yachts but never had occasion to notice the lifeboats much. He had been picturing something more old school, like in _Titanic._

Maybe _Titanic_ wasn’t the best thing to be thinking about right now.

David said, “Do you even know how to get this thing in the water?”

“Of course, David,” Alexis said. “Don’t you remember when I escaped from those Somali pirates on David Geffen’s yacht?”

“Maybe?” he said, but Alexis had already moved on. 

Patrick leaned in to examine how the lifeboat was attached to the yacht. “It looks pretty straightforward,” he said. “But it’s going to make an awful splash when it goes in the water. That’s going to attract attention.”

“That’s where David comes in,” Alexis said. “He'll distract everyone, create a diversion.”

“How? Like what?” David said. 

“I don’t know, David! Just something loud. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to make a spectacle of yourself.”

“Excuse me,” he said, offended.

“Then after that, I need you to keep Klair occupied. Keep her away from her room.”

“For how long?”

Alexis pursed her lips. “Forty-five minutes? An hour? Keep your phone handy, we’ll text you. Ready, Patrick?"

Patrick nodded. 

“Where’s your phone, David?” Alexis said, and David took it out. “Set a timer for five minutes. In exactly five minutes, that’s when you need to do something loud.”

David set the timer. Alexis had her phone out, ready. “Starting now,” she said, and they hit the start button together. _Synchronize your watches, boys,_ floated into David’s head, a line from a some thriller or other he’d watched, no doubt against his will. Then Alexis and Patrick both knelt at either end of the lifeboat, like they’d watched the same movie and had taken notes.

“Okay, well, um, good luck,” David said. He lingered, glancing at Patrick. He knew this wasn’t exactly the time, but he just wanted something, some sign, to indicate how Patrick felt about what happened, something to give David a reason to stop worrying. Patrick smiled reassuringly, but then, he probably thought David was nervous about this … heist. Which he was, but that’s not what—

“David!” Alexis said, making shooing motions with her hands.

“Fine, I’m going!” David said, his hands flying up so fast his phone almost flew out of his hand.

He wheeled around and made his way back to the pool. First he located Klair. She was sitting in a deck chair in her bathing suit—Emma Pake, David’s brain noted automatically—talking to Jitney. He stood indecisively for a few minutes. What could he do that was loud?

He glanced at his timer. Three minutes. There was a bluetooth speaker on the side of the pool. A Harry Styles song was playing, not one of his best. David went over to stand next to the speaker, like he wanted to hear it better.

David took out his phone and looked at the timer. Watching the seconds ticking by intensified the nervousness roiling in his stomach. God, he was really not cut out for this. With thirty seconds to go, the song ended. The ensuing silence was painful, what if Alexis and Patrick launched the boat early? He’d have to scream, or something—what else could he do that was loud? Then Tina’s “The Best” started. A nice surprise. He picked up the speaker and pressed the volume up button and held it in. He shouted over the ensuing volume, “I love this song!”

A few people turned to look at him in annoyance, but he pretended to be lost in the music. That shouldn’t be hard—this was Tina, after all—but he was a little distracted right now. He kept looking at his phone, watching the countdown, trying not to be obvious but probably failing miserably. The timer hit zero. He strained his ears, listening for a splash.

Klair shouted over the music, “David!” He thought she was going to tell him to turn the music down. Instead she said, “Where’s Patrick?” 

He felt a thrill of panic. “Mm, I don’t know.” He pointed at the speaker and said, “Do you hear that? This is actually a beautiful love song! Listen to the lyrics!”

Klair didn’t, though. She said, “You don’t know? Come on, you guys are like joined at the hip. You’re so in love it’s disgusting.”

That caught David’s attention. He said, “Oh, what makes you say that?” 

“What?” Klair shouted.

“Is there something specific that you’ve noticed?” David shouted back. He felt foolish, but if Klair had noticed something, this was very important information for him to have.

Klair ignored the question. Typical. The one time she might actually be helpful. She got up and came to stand next to him. “I want to interview him about the rescue tonight. I need follow-up content. I’ve gotten some new followers because of it, and I have to, like, jump on that.”

“Makes sense,” David said, stalling. _Just as long as I’m here in your arms I could be in no better place,_ Tina sang. Ugh, such a good line. It made him think of kissing Patrick earlier. David dearly wished he was still back there, still in their room, still kissing Patrick, instead of in this spy thriller-slash-nightmare scenario.

Klair went on, still shouting over Tina, “So where is he? Even better if he’s all wet and dripping again, like he was earlier. Right?” She punched David on the arm. Really, her constant ogling of his fiancé was so offensive. Also, she seemed perfectly oblivious to the fact that she had basically fucked David over earlier, and he might be angry with her right now.

Oh, to be that rich again, to be such an asshole with no consequences.

David saw Albany coming up the stairs. He said, “What about Albany? You could interview her again.”

“Interview me about what?” Albany said eagerly.

Klair scrunched up her face into an expression of distaste. “I don’t know, David. This—” she made a gesture encompassing Albany’s whole look. “This is not camera ready.”

David winced, but Klair was sort of right. Albany’s whole Coachella-meets-Les-Mis vibe was really, really unfortunate. On the other hand—“Well, her aesthetic right now kind of screams _traumatic experience,_ don’t you think?” he said.

“Hmm,” Klair said. “Maybe you’re right, David. Okay, Albany, let’s see what you got. Jitney, get over here! I need you to film us. I am _not_ missing out on being on camera this time.”

Jitney came over and they started conferring. David sagged with relief. That should keep them busy for awhile.

His phone pinged. He saw that it was Patrick, and opened up the text eagerly.

 **Patrick:** We’re here. Alexis is about to climb in the porthole.

David let out a breath. Okay. Okay. He picked up the bluetooth speaker and turned the music down to a normal volume. Then another text came through:

 **Patrick:** Can’t wait to see you. We need to talk. ❤️😬

David stared at the text, puzzling over it. _Can’t wait to see you,_ and a heart. That was … good, maybe. But then, _We need to talk?_ And the _grimace_ face?

What the fuck did it mean?

David glanced up at the three women. Klair was fiddling with Albany’s hair and scolding her about her insufficient conditioning. Which, again, fair. David went back to Patrick’s text. It was bad, he decided. Definitely bad. _We need to talk_ was never good. The heart didn’t cancel that out. A heart with a grimace emoji probably meant _I need to tell you I don’t like you but I’m going to try to be nice about it._

Maybe. Probably. God. Fuck. Fuck. 

_What did you expect?_ his brain asked, reasonably. 

_Fuck you,_ David told his brain.

David had to respond to Patrick’s text. It would be weird if he didn't. What should he say?

He wrote _we can talk whenever you’d like,_ and deleted it. That was too friendly, could be perceived as needy. He needed something polite, but not, like, _too_ polite. Something that would preserve their friendship and the status quo. Civil, edging into friendly. He tried a thumbs-up emoji, but deleted it. That wasn’t right. Too flippant. David needed something that conveyed _Of course we can talk, even if you’re planning to tell me our kiss was a mistake. But that is absolutely fine, since I’m an emotionally stable person who can kiss someone without getting too needy and attached; also, I am mature enough that it will in no way affect our business partnership._

He typed:

 **David:** k

Close enough, he thought. He hit send.

“Jesus, Albany, you’re useless!” Klair said. ‘You couldn’t be more boring if you tried."

“Sorry, Klair,” Albany said. 

“Let me see what you’ve got so far,” Klair said to Jitney. Jitney handed over the phone, and Klair bent her head over it. “Ugh!” she said. “The lighting here is, like, way too green. It’s awful for my skin tone. How the fuck couldn’t you see that?”

“Oh, I didn’t think—” Jitney said.

“You never think!” Klair snapped. She kept watching the video. “Albany, I can’t stand to even listen to you. Whine much? You sound pathetic.”

“I was trying to sound like I almost died.”

“Well, you sound like you’re already _dead._ Okay. God. Well, first I need to fix the lighting,” Klair said. “I have a camera light in my room.”

David was suddenly alert. Her room. _Fuck._ “I think your skin looks great,” he said quickly.

Klair gave him a look. “Please. I need that light. I’ll just run down to my room and—”

David interrupted, “How about I get it for you? Let me get it.”

“No, honey. No one goes in my room but me.” Klair turned and started walking toward the stairs.

David called, “Wait! Klair! I have a better idea!”

She turned. “What?"

He blurted, “Let’s jump off the crow’s nest!”

 _Fuck._ Where had that come from?

Klair’s eyes lit up. She said, “Are you serious right now?”

David said, babbling, “If you want new content, after the near-drowning, this will be so much better. You can post it and say ‘A brush with death can’t stop us. Still living life on the edge.’” 

Ugh. That was _awful._ His social media game, when he bothered, was far more witty and subtle.

But Klair loved it. “Yessssss,” she said. “Oh my God, that’s awesome, David. Jitney, Albany, come on! You’re going to film us. David! This is going to be so much fun.”

David smiled weakly and said, “Mm. Yes. So fun.”

Klair raced over to where the mast was. Jitney and Albany followed, and David walked slowly behind. He had to find some way to get out of this. He hadn’t been able to tolerate heights since the Seychelles. Could he fake having a heart attack? 

He reached the bottom of the mast and looked up at the crow’s nest, impossibly high.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to fake it.

Okay. Okay. He checked his phone. As soon as Alexis got out of Klair’s room, it wouldn’t matter if they were still in the lifeboat. He could stop this whole thing. He texted Patrick.

 **David:** How much longer

 **Patrick:** Not sure. Alexis is still inside

 **David:** Text me as soon as she’s out

He thought about adding, _Tell her to hurry._ But he was sure Alexis was going as fast as she could. David didn’t want to add to her stress. He could do this; he could figure this out.

Klair was talking about a mast ladder which apparently needed to be hooked up so they could climb up to the crow’s nest. David relaxed a trifle. He hoped it would take a long time to set up. Hours, preferably.

But Klair called the steward and prodded him relentlessly and it was done in an alarmingly short time. Then Klair peered up at the crow’s nest and said, “So, David? Do you want to go first, or should I?”

“Oh, well,” David said with a rush of relief. If Klair went first—

If Klair went first, she’d be able to see all around the boat from up there. She might be able to see Patrick and Alexis in the lifeboat, breaking into her room.

Fuck. Fucking fuck shit fucking fuck.

“No, I’ll do it,” he announced. “I’ll go first.” 

He’d never seen Klair this excited. “This is the best, David.” She bought her phone up, pressed record. “David Rose is going to jump off the top of the mast,” she intoned. She moved the phone to show the mast, then brought it back to David.

She said, “David is always ready to live life on the edge. But his fiancé isn’t so happy about it. He wants David to _play it safe._ What about your future children, David?”

“Fuck ‘em,” David said, and Klair laughed delightedly.

David took off his sweater and folded it carefully, trying to do everything slowly, slowly. He left his black t-shirt on underneath. He sat down in a deck chair and untied the laces of his shoes. His hands were shaking, he noted, but he felt detached, like it was happening to someone else. He took off his socks and tucked them in his shoes.

He looked at this phone, hoping for an all-clear text from Patrick. There was nothing. He opened up the text chain and texted a quick question mark.

David remembered he didn’t have a bathing suit. Well, whatever. He’d already lost everything, might as well lose his dignity too. With fatalistic calm, he took off his Rick Owens pants and folded them carefully. At least, he was wearing his longer boxer briefs that came down to mid-thigh. They were Tom Ford, and newer—he’d splurged.

Klair gave him a wolf whistle and started clapping. Somehow, a crowd had gathered, and they all joined in, cheering and clapping. David saw that Sebastien was among them, looking sardonically amused. As if things couldn’t be any worse.

David’s phone pinged.

 **Patrick:** She’s still inside

So. That was that, then.

“Do you want me to film with your phone, too, David?” Klair said, reaching out for it.

“No,” David said, clutching it to his chest. Patrick might text him, and Klair would see it, and give away what was going on. But David couldn’t bring the phone up there with him, either.

With a feeling of cutting off his last lifeline, David put his phone on Do Not Disturb. He slipped it in his shoe.

Then he went to the base of the mast and took hold of the ladder. More cheering from the crowd.

He put his foot on the bottom rung and started to climb. _Don’t look down. Don’t think about the Seychelles._

David narrowed his focus to his hands on the rungs he was holding. Nothing else existed but his hands and his feet and this ladder. He couldn’t do this otherwise. The sounds of the crowd faded as he climbed, higher and higher. It took less time than he thought, no time at all, to reach the little platform at the top. He had to swing his upper body out a little bit so he could climb over the edge of the platform and get onto it. It was terrifying, leaning back, feeling his center of gravity shift. He didn’t stop; if he stopped he would freeze up and panic and fall to his death. He let his adrenaline carry him up and over, onto the platform. Then he scrambled to a standing position, grateful for the small mercy of being on something more solid than a rope ladder.

The little platform had bars at hip height. He took hold of them firmly, with both hands, and raised his eyes. 

The view was, actually, breathtaking. The stars were bright and felt very close, the moon a perfect crescent. On one side of the boat, the water sparkled with the reflected lights from the shores of Southampton, on the other the dark grey ocean extended in the distance to deep black.

He moved his eyes slowly, to the right and to the left, and then turned carefully to look behind him, to look for Patrick and Alexis. He couldn’t see them. They must be on the far side of the boat, out of sight.

It was surprisingly quiet, up here. And cold. The wind whistled around him. He could hear the crowd beneath him, but their voices felt very far away, in a different world. He might as well be alone, in a different dimension.

What was he doing here? Somehow, his life choices had led to this moment, where he was standing in the crow’s nest at the top of a mast, on this yacht, in the Hamptons, in his underwear. How did he get here?

 _Back_ here.

This used to be his world. Here was a slot that used to fit him perfectly. Not happily, _never_ happily, he was realizing—but familiar, and known, and therefore safe. But now—the slot didn’t fit anymore. He didn’t fit. There was something separating him from these people now. And it wasn’t just that they had money, and he didn’t.

But money was—yeah. He missed having money, a lot. Money could buy a lot of things, things that David liked. High thread count sheets. Rick Owens sweaters. Oysters and lobster and saffron infused rice. Veuve Clicquot champagne. The Cle de Peau skincare line. Access to a selection of compliant physicians willing to prescribe a variety of pharmaceuticals. 

But money had bought David more than that. It had padded the edges between him and people, people like the crowd down below—it had made them bearable. Just. Without money, you were left with only the unbearable part.

He’d known for awhile—ever since they’d dropped him like a rock a year and a half ago—that these people had never liked him. What he saw now, with a clarity that was almost painful, is he had never liked them either—and not in a grumpy, misanthropic, _I hate people_ kind of way, but actually, truly despised them. He’d spent his whole life, up until a year and half ago, with people who made his life worse in every way.

 _Things are different now,_ he’d told Alexis. And they were. He’d spent more time with his parents in the last year and half than he ever had in his entire life. He _knew_ them now, in a way he never had before. He had Stevie, his first real friend, a best friend, even. He had Alexis back, and something had changed; she wanted to come visit him, she’d offered to pay him back. He’d always remember that, even if she changed her mind. And that was fine, if she did. The who-helped-who in their relationship only ever went one way; that was just the way it was, and he was fine with it.

And—he had Patrick. 

_Did_ he have Patrick?

He had a friend and a business partner, who was good and kind and funny and gorgeous and who David was almost helplessly drawn to. This whole weekend had just made things more confusing and more complicated. His brain turned over and wrapped itself into a knot of _maybes_ and _does hes_ and _I hope_ and _I want_ til it landed once again on _I have no fucking clue._

David became aware again of all the voices below. Chanting his name. _Da-vid. Da-vid._ Ridiculous. 

Fuck it.

David took his heart in his hands, took a deep breath, and jumped.

He was in the air for an impossibly long time, long enough to seriously question his life choices, and then he was hitting the water, feet first, thank God, straight as an arrow, plunging down, down, down into the cold water. Finally he slowed. His eyes were shut tight. He was disoriented, so far down below the surface. He had a sudden panicked feeling that he didn’t know which way was up, that he would never make it up again. Then he thought confusedly of Alexis and Patrick and his parents and Stevie and also how he _couldn’t give Sebastien Raine the satisfaction of drowning right now_ and then he was kicking his legs and pumping his arms and straining up, up, up, until he was surfacing and drawing in a breath of blessed, blessed air; and then he opened his eyes and saw Alexis and Patrick in their lifeboat, staring at him with shock equal to his own.

Alexis said, “Holy Hell, David, you just _jumped_ —I just saw you—” and Patrick was reaching out to him and saying, “Can you swim over? Can you make it here?”

Too out of breath to answer, David paddled over and grasped the side of the boat, grateful for its solidity. He loved this boat. He was never letting go.

Patrick said “David, how did you—God, I can’t believe—wait, we need to—can you move to the back of the boat so I can row?” David nodded and inched himself, hand over hand, around to the back of the boat. Patrick got the oars in the water and maneuvered them over to a rope ladder that was dangling on the yacht’s side. David looked up and saw dozens of faces looking at them. Klair was screaming something, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“You first, David, we’ll be right behind you,” Patrick said encouragingly. David made his way over to the ladder, which looked sickeningly like the ladder he had climbed up the mast. He paused and gritted his teeth and then forced himself to let go of the boat, took hold of the ladder and climbed.

Then he was scrambling over the side of the boat and back on the deck, solid beneath his feet. Klair was right there. Pouncing. She waved her phone in his face and said, “You are so crazy, David! I got the whole thing on film. I’m posting it now!”

David was shaking, feeling very self-conscious. He was cold, dripping wet, and he could feel his t-shirt and boxer briefs were glued to him. 

Alexis came up the ladder next, dropping gracefully down onto the deck.

“So, um, what the fuck were you guys doing out there?” Klair asked them.

“Picking David up out of the water, of course,” Alexis said, which really didn’t make sense, but she said it with such authority that Klair seemed to accept it.

Then Patrick came up the ladder, and made a beeline for David, but then just stopped in front of him and stared. His cheeks were flushed, and he seemed stupefied. He put his hands like he was going to touch David, but then pulled back and said, “Okay. Um. God, David, you’re so—you’re so, um, wet, you must be freezing—let’s get you—uh, towels—”

Albany came running up with an armful of towels. “Here you go, David.”

“Thank you,” David said. He took one towel and wrapped it around his waist. Patrick seemed to snap out of his daze and took another towel from Albany and put it around his shoulders, rubbing his hands over the towel briskly, as if to warm him up.

“My turn to return the favor,” he murmured.

David looked up at him. Patrick was smiling but his eyes were … something else, a touch worried and uncertain. Was this just a prelude to _we need to talk?_ David felt shaky and off balance, his mind a confused tangle from which one thought emerged: he needed to get some distance, some boundaries back in place.

He stepped back. “I’m fine, I’ve got it,” he said, with a smile. Polite.

Patrick looked taken aback. David turned away and gave his attention to Alexis and Klair.

Alexis was saying, “So I’m a little confused about something.”

“What?” Klair said.

Alexis’s eyes were huge and guileless. She said, “I’m wondering about the launch next month?” 

“You want to talk about that _now?_ What about it?” Klair said. 

“I’ve been talking to my brother, you know, making plans, thinking ahead, and I wanted to make sure I was getting creative credit on everything.”

“Creative credit?” Klair said. 

Alexis said, “Yeah. Because, I mean, you specifically told me I would get credit. So I could use it to apply for other jobs.”

“Did I say that? I don’t remember saying that,” Klair said. She smiled, smug and mean. She liked this. “And, well, I didn’t want to say this til after the weekend? But I actually haven’t been happy with the work you’ve been doing. And I’ve been meaning to let you go. So.” She cocked her head to the side and toyed with a lock of her long hair, watching Alexis, waiting for her reaction.

Alexis’s mouth stretched in dismay. “I’m sorry, Klair. I didn’t know. Well, it’s a good thing I have this.” Then she pulled Klair’s laptop out of her bag and brandished it like a rabbit out of a hat.

Klair’s face changed, all the smugness falling away. “What the hell? Where did you get that?” she said.

Very deliberately, Alexis walked over to the side of the boat. She held the laptop over the water.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Klair said, her voice rising.

Alexis said. “Well, my work is no good. You just said so. So it won’t matter if I toss it in the harbor, will it? I’ll be doing you a favor.”

“Alexis, come on. Give it back. Stop being a bitch."

Alexis let the laptop start to slide through her fingers.

“Alexis, no!” Klair shrieked, as Alexis caught the laptop before it slid any further. God, she was good.

“Alexis. Remember what’s at stake here!” Klair said. “I can’t—I need all that for Kylie. It’s how I’m getting to Mykonos.”

“Oh, I remember. It’s just,” Alexis tilted her head. She said, her tone bright and sincere, “I don’t really care.”

At that, Klair actually looked scared. Her voice went higher and higher as she said, “Alexis, I have _announced_ on my Instagram that I am going to Mykonos. This is the event of the decade! I stand to get tens of thousands of new followers from this. And if I can get a selfie with Kim or Kanye, it’s a million, easy.”

“I know,” Alexis said.

“And I don’t go, after saying I will, people might—” Klair gulped visibly. “They might _unfollow_ me.”

“Mm. I know that too. And I still don’t care.”

“Who even are you?” Klair exclaimed.

Alexis tapped her chin. She was still holding the laptop loosely with one hand, suspended over the water. It was even making David nervous. She said, “You know, I was talking to Patrick before. He’s kind of a business guy? And he said if you had a decent business manager, you’d have all of these files backed up."

“Sebastien!” Klair shrieked.

There was a shifting and murmuring in the crowd. David had been so riveted on Alexis and Klair he hadn’t noticed the others. But the people around them were eating this up, he saw. _Drama_. Sebastien emerged suddenly from the crowd, possibly after having been pushed, because he stumbled a bit as he stepped forward. “What?” he said irritably.

“Do we have backups?” Klair said.

“Backups?” Sebastien said. “Backups of what?”

“Of my fucking laptop. All my files for Kylie!” she said.

Sebastien looked uneasy. “Oh. I assumed it was all, um, in the cloud?”

Patrick scoffed and muttered something under his breath. David caught the words “professional malpractice.” 

Klair snapped, “You’re fired, Sebby.” 

Sebastien's mouth fell open. _Like a fish,_ David thought. A fish who had just been fired. Then Sebastien gathered himself and said, “Klair, I know you’re upset, so I’ll make allowances. You can’t—”

“Hell yes, I can. You’re fucking fired.”

Sebastien said, “But I need the—what about my show? You were going to sponsor my next show.”

“Fuck off, I’m not doing that.”

Sebastien looked shocked. He said, “Klair—”

“Oh my God, would you seriously fuck off?” she said.

Sebastien’s eyes darted around. He seemed to decide that he didn’t want to continue arguing, in front of all these people. He turned to leave.

David said, “Sebastien.”

Sebastien turned back. David said, “You know, by firing you, Klair is really giving you a gift, the gift of achieving your dream through your own power. Think about it.”

Patrick snickered. Sebastien glared at David, and David gave him an eyebrow. 

Then Sebastien turned and walked away. _Slunk_ away.

Patrick was smiling at David. David smiled back.

Klair turned back to Alexis. She said, “Fine! You win, Alexis. You want back on the project? You’re back on. Creative credit, a percentage of the fee, just like we said.”

“No, that’s not what I want,” Alexis said, surprising David. What was she doing?

Klair threw up her hands. “What the hell do you want, then?”

Alexis said calmly, “I want you to pay my brother back. The twenty thousand.”

David couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Alexis,” he said. “No.”

Klair said, “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about?”

“Yep,” Alexis said. She turned to David. “This is what I want, okay?”

“Are you sure?” David asked.

“Yes, I’m absolutely sure,” Alexis said. 

He looked at her closely, and her expression radiated calm certainty. He nodded.

Patrick took out his phone. “I’ve got the account info here. Ready when you are, Klair.”

Klair looked at them all, then jerked out her phone and said, “Fine.” Patrick went over next to her and they bent their heads together. David held his breath, watching Klair’s hands fly over her phone.

Patrick’s face was alert, watchful. Then his lips pressed into a line of grim satisfaction. He looked up and met David’s eyes. “Done,” he said.

Klair said, “Okay, now give me my fucking laptop.” 

Alexis said, “Gladly,” and handed it over. “Have fun in Mykonos.”

Klair waved it at them. “Fuck you, then,” she said. “All of you.” Her phone buzzed and she looked at the screen. Her face changed, lit up. “Kim commented on my video, look! ‘Klair yr parties r always wild. Can’t wait to see u in Mykonos.’”

Albany and Jitney ran over to look. “Oh my God, this is the best night ever!” Klair said. The three of them turned and walked away, hunched over her phone.

Alexis looked after them. She shook her head.

“Alexis,” David said. “What are you going to do now? What about New York, what about getting a job there?”

She said, “I can still do that. Eventually. I decided I’d rather do it without Klair. She’s really not good for my brand, you know?”

David shook his head. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Alexis said, “And I can’t believe you jumped in the ocean from the top of the mast. How the hell did that even happen, David? You’ve been terrified of heights since Anderson Cooper dumped you.”

Patrick said, “Well, Klair was right about one thing. David is a badass.”

Patrick’s tone was admiring. David lowered his eyes against the warm rush of pleasure it gave him. “Just doing my part,” he said modestly.

Alexis said. “Be honest, David. Did you jump, or was it more of a falling situation?”

“I will not dignify that with a response,” David said, but he was smiling and Alexis was smiling and Patrick was smiling and David wanted to hold this moment forever.

Then Patrick said, “C’mon, David, let’s get you back to the room. You’re soaking wet.”

Patrick’s hand settled on David’s back. David turned, then looked back at Alexis. “You’ll be okay?"

Alexis said, “Oh, yes.” Then she reached out and booped his nose. “See you tomorrow, David.”

“Good night.”

So then it was Patrick who ran to get David’s shoes, and clothes, and phone, Patrick who escorted David back to their room with his hand on his back, Patrick who dried David off with towels, his hands gentle on his body. And there was a moment, when Patrick had his hands on David’s shoulders, and he was looking at David with those soft brown eyes, when David thought that spark was rising up again between them, and he thought Patrick might kiss him. He didn’t. He stepped back. let his hands fall, and David retreated to the bathroom to take a shower, taking with him his dry pajamas and a sense of creeping dread.

He came out to see Patrick sitting on the bed in his sleep clothes.

“I’m really happy we got the money back,” Patrick said.

“Me too,” David said.

“It’s late,” Patrick said. It was almost three a.m.

“Yes, very,” David said softly. “And tomorrow we go back.” He knew what that meant. No more Patrick as his fake fiancé. No more sweet hand holding. No more strong arms wrapped around him. 

No more kissing.

“So we haven’t had a chance to talk about, um, what happened,” Patrick said.

David’s stomach instantly seized into a tight knot. “No, we haven’t,” he said. He wanted to say _I know it didn’t mean anything, we got caught up in the moment, I get it._ But he was so tired, and felt so fragile, he didn’t trust himself to bring the words out. But he could listen. He could listen and say _it’s fine._ He practiced it in his head. _It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine._

Patrick smoothed his palms over his thighs. He said, “I don’t know how you’re feeling, but I—I like you, David. I’d like us to, um, see where this goes. If you want to.”

This was so different from what he thought Patrick was going to say that David was momentarily silenced. Then he said, “I—yes. Me too?”

“You don’t sound very sure,” Patrick said, smiling a little smile, still looking a little uncertain.

“I thought—I thought you were going to tell me you regretted it,” David said.

Patrick looked surprised, his round eyes stretched rounder and his mouth a round O of surprise. He looked a little like the shocked emoji. He said, “Why would I regret it?”

“I don’t know! But you sent me that text.”

“What text?”

“The one that said _‘We need to talk.’”_ David made air quotes.

Patrick said, “But I didn’t mean—no, it was like, ‘we need to talk,’ like in a good way.”

“There is no good way!”

“But the heart. You saw the heart?”

“Yes, but—” David grabbed his phone and touched on the message. _Can’t wait to see you. We need to talk._ ❤️😬 He pointed at the last emoji. “What’s this then?”

Patrick said, “A smile. That’s a smile!”

“Oh my God. It’s not a smile. It’s like—” David stretched his mouth into a grimace.

“Really?” Patrick said. He took the phone and looked at it more closely. “I’ve been using that for awhile. Gosh, I wonder if I’ve been offending people."

David snatched his phone back. He said, “This is because of your stupid tiny phone! Thanks for making me want to pitch myself into the sea!”

Patrick was looking at him with laughter in his eyes. “Actually, David, you did pitch yourself into the sea.”

“Well, there you go, then. That was your fault.”

Patrick said, “I’m sorry, David. I was just—we didn’t have a chance to talk and I wanted to tell you how happy I was that we—that you—”

“That I what?” David said. He felt himself starting to smile.

“That you kissed me.” Patrick was looking down and his cheeks were flushed and the tips of his ears were pink and he was so, so adorable.

“Oh, okay,” David said. “I’m happy I kissed you too.”

“Well,” Patrick said. “Maybe we should do it again, then.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” David said softly.

Patrick brought a hand up and touched David’s face, gently, running his fingers over his jawline, and then he leaned over and covered his mouth with his. 

David kissed him back. Patrick’s lips were warm and gentle and soft. After a moment, Patrick leaned in, pressing a little closer, and David turned toward him and put his hand on his neck. Patrick had said he liked him and he was kissing him and it was so lovely David wanted to cry.

After a long moment, Patrick pulled back. “We probably shouldn’t get, um, carried away.”

“Carried away? What do you mean?” David asked, just so he could see Patrick blush again.

Patrick said, “It’s been a very long day, and we could use some sleep.”

David _was_ tired, he realized. Very tired. “Sleep sounds good,” he said. And then just because he could, and Patrick’s lips were right here, he leaned in and gave Patrick another quick kiss. Patrick kissed him back, and the kiss lasted a little longer than David meant, but then he pulled back. _Don’t get carried away._

They got ready for bed, taking turns in the bathroom, and then David turned off the light, while Patrick pulled the blankets back. They both crawled under the covers.

Once Patrick had gotten himself settled, lying on his back, David turned on his side and moved a little closer. He didn’t know if snuggling was on the table. 

“C’mere, David,” Patrick said, and, oh, David loved that low, growly voice. David scooted over and Patrick lifted up his arm so David could tuck himself into Patrick’s side and rest his head on his chest. Patrick clasped his arms around him.

David closed his eyes, loving the feeling of being in Patrick’s arms, snuggled against Patrick’s body. He tilted his face into Patrick’s chest and inhaled the scent of him, trying not to be too obvious about it.

“I wanted to do this last night, you know,” Patrick said.

“You kind of did, remember? I woke up this morning to you plastered up against me.”

Patrick let out a huff of laughter. “You told me you were going to forget about that.”

“Mm, I was actually never going to forget about that.”

David’s body felt tired but his brain was still buzzing. He couldn’t resist running his hand over Patrick’s chest, stroking him gently.

“David,” Patrick said.

David’s hand stilled. “Sorry.”

“No, you can—I don’t mind.” David continued his stroking, and Patrick said, “It’s just hard to wind down, you know?”

“Yeah, it is."

“I want to kiss you again,” Patrick said, low. “Can I?”

“Yes,” David whispered.

Patrick turned on his side. He leaned in toward David and his mouth bumped into David’s nose. “Where are you?” he whispered, and David tried to lean in to find his mouth in the dark, but they missed again, David’s mouth against Patrick’s cheek. Patrick put his hands on David’s face, and got him lined up so they could kiss properly, but by then they were both laughing so it was difficult; they were kissing and laughing; and then they were just kissing, Patrick’s mouth hot and sweet and urgent on his.

Soon Patrick was pressing closer, sliding his tongue into David’s mouth, his arm curving around David’s body. David felt like he could go on kissing Patrick forever, just like this, and it would be enough. And then suddenly, it wasn’t enough. Their hands and arms and bodies started getting more and more involved in the kiss. David stroked over Patrick’s shoulders and chest and down to his waist, where he forced himself to stop.

David pulled away. “Let’s—ah,” he said, _not get carried away,_ he was going to say, but he lost his train of thought when Patrick started kissing his neck, his lips warm and insistent, his hands touching David’s chest and then slipping around to his back; he nibbled under David’s ear, and then his hands slid down further and cupped David’s ass and brought their hips together, and David could feel Patrick’s cock, hard against him, and oh, that was good. He instinctively ground against him, and Patrick rocked his hips forward, and, oh, that was really good—and he had to stop this.

“Patrick,” he said, putting his hands between them, pushing a little. “You said—we shouldn’t get carried away. Are you sure you want—”

Patrick pulled back a little. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah. Maybe—um, maybe I’m not as tired as I thought.”

David smiled in the dark. “Is that so,” he said.

“But if you want to stop—”

“No, I’m—I’m not, um, that tired, either,” David said. He slid his hand down to the front of Patrick’s PJ pants, fingers lightly tracing his cock through the fabric. Patrick made a little whimpering sound and pushed into his hand, and David palmed over him, feeling the size and shape of him with his fingers.

His hand drifted up, trailed along Patrick’s waistband, and paused. “Yes, touch me, David, please,” Patrick whispered, and David slipped his hand inside and closed over Patrick’s cock, feeling him hard and thick, so thick, against his palm. He wanted to see it, he wanted it in his mouth, in his ass, everywhere. God, he wanted it. But for now—

In the dark it was easy to say things. He said, “I want to make you come. Can I?”

“Yes,” Patrick breathed, “Yes, I want that too, I want—” and a moment later he felt Patrick’s hand, pushing David’s PJ pants down enough to wrap around his cock. He gasped and jerked a little, and Patrick whispered, “David,” and stroked him up and down.

David’s brain ticked rapidly. He thought briefly about lube—he thought maybe he had some, tucked into his toiletries, but it was too far away. However, he could absolutely work with this. He put his hand in his mouth and licked it, and brought his spit-slicked hand back to Patrick’s cock to stroke him up and down. “God, David,” Patrick said, groaning into his touch, and David sensed, rather than saw, Patrick doing the same, licking his hand, and returning it to David’s cock.

They both started to stroke, finding a rhythm. The angle wasn’t quite right for this, but David didn’t care. they pressed their bodies together and jerked frantically, everything messy and uncoordinated and so, so hot. David heard Patrick choke out David’s name and then he felt his body grow taut and felt Patrick’s cock pulse in his hand, as he came in a warm flood over his fist. Patrick’s hand on David’s cock loosened and slowed a little as he shuddered, and David whimpered and pushed into him and gasped out involuntarily, “Oh, don’t—keep—please,” and Patrick’s hand tightened again. 

Patrick kept stroking his cock, everything wet and slick down there now, slick with Patrick’s come, and, God, that was so hot—thinking that his cock was covered with Patrick’s come; Patrick was jerking him off with his come. David heard himself making noises, noises that were way too loud, but he couldn’t stop himself. Then Patrick’s thumb found just the right spot, under the head of his cock, and David arched into the perfect feel of it, and Patrick whispered, “I want you to feel good, I want to make you feel so good,” and David felt those words push him over the edge; warm waves of pleasure were washing over him, shaking something loose inside him, and he was crying suddenly, crying and coming at the same time. Patrick wrapped his other arm around him to hold David closer, and David buried his face in Patrick’s neck and kept crying, he couldn’t stop, until he felt scraped clean, hollowed out and exhausted, comfortable and comforted and safe, wrapped up in Patrick’s arms.

David came back to himself, feeling floaty and peaceful, and slowly became aware that his nose and eyes were streaming and wet, that one hand was stuck under his body and the other was between them, covered in a mess of come, so he couldn’t wipe his eyes. He rubbed his face a little against Patrick’s shoulder, trying not to be too obvious. What a mess he was. “We should clean up,” he said.

“Yeah, we should,” Patrick said, but he didn’t let go.

“I’ll get up,” David said, and Patrick loosened his arms, and David backed awkwardly out of bed. 

In the bathroom David grabbed some towels. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and his nose was snotty and his hair was awful and he looked wrecked. The jagged disconnection between how he _looked_ and how he _felt_ scraped over the raw place in his mind, the place that was always ready to believe the worst. What did Patrick think of him, coming all over him and then crying all over him like that? 

_For a good time, call David Rose. Guaranteed to fall apart after a single hand job._

This crazy day, this entire weekend, came back to him in disjointed flashes. What must this all look like from Patrick’s point of view? Who would sign up for that?

 _He likes me,_ he thought. _He said he did._

 _Too needy, too messy, too high maintenance,_ his brain said, and in it he heard the echo of Sebastien’s voice. Sebastien was cruel, David knew; he said things like that for the sake of being cruel, but also—he hadn’t been proved wrong yet.

David remembered Albany clinging to Patrick like a leech after Patrick saved her life. Patrick was so steady and strong, he had probably attracted people like Albany, people like David, his whole life. He pictured Patrick having to constantly pry needy people off of him, shake off their clinging hands, wipe off their semen and their tears and their snot. 

Well, the least David could do is give him a towel to do it with. 

He cleaned himself up quickly and went back in the room and handed a towel to Patrick. Patrick cleaned himself up and David took the towel and threw it on the floor.

David crawled back into bed. He turned on his side, facing away from Patrick. He resisted the urge to curl himself up into a little ball, around the tight knot of paranoia that was now lodged in his stomach. Maybe, maybe, Patrick would touch him, he would hold him, he would curl up behind him as the big spoon, and David would feel a little better. Maybe he was spiraling, maybe this was all in his head.

But he wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t be clingy.

Patrick did touch him. He felt Patrick line himself up against David’s back, slip his arm around him, and kiss the back of his neck. The knot of paranoia unloosened a little.

“I’m sorry,” David mumbled.

“Why? What for?”

David struggled to find words that didn’t _also_ sound needy. That’s another thing Sebastien used to do: criticize him for being needy, then criticize him for apologizing for being needy. _Stop apologizing, it’s annoying._ David said, “You’ve done so much, this weekend. It’s so far beyond what any business partner should have to deal with.”

“Mm, I hope I’m a little more than your business partner now, David.”

The knot unloosened a little more. David said, “I just feel like I’m—I’m leaning on you too much. You’re doing too much. For me.”

“Not possible.”

“Don’t. Don’t say stuff like that. You might regret it.” 

“Why would I regret it, David?” 

“I’ve been accused of being a little, ah, needy,” David said cautiously. And wasn’t that an understatement.

“By who? Sebastien?”

“Well, yes. But—not just him.”

Patrick tried to turn him around, but David resisted. He couldn’t face Patrick, not even in the dark. Patrick ran his hand up and down over David’s chest, like he was trying to figure out what to say. Or he was trying to figure out how to get away from here as quickly as possible.

Patrick said, “David, you’re the strongest, bravest person I know.”

Well, that was crazy. Obviously, Patrick was crazy. But—David was willing to hear him out. “What?” he said.

Patrick went on, “You had to put your whole life back together after losing everything. Do you know how much strength that takes? And you’ll go to the ends of the earth for Alexis. You _have_ gone to the ends of the earth for her, multiple times. Also to the top of a mast,” he added, with a smile in his voice.

David said, “You don’t understand. I only do that stuff for Alexis because—” He stopped. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words. _Because I have to, because she’s my sister. Because she could never count on anyone but me._

Patrick went on, “You’re starting your own business, which most people don’t have the nerve to do. And just this weekend you controlled a runaway horse, jumped from a crow’s nest, stood up to Sebastien, and helped outsmart Klair and get your money back. I’ve been honored to just be along for the ride.”

David was sure that Patrick was wrong, was looking at everything the wrong way round. But, it all sounded so logical, somehow, and he couldn’t find the flaw in the logic. He was too tired. And—maybe, well, maybe he didn’t want to argue. Who would want to argue against such nice things?

Now the knot was unwinding dangerously fast. To distract himself, he turned over and took Patrick’s face in his hands and kissed him thoroughly. Patrick kissed him back, sweet and slow.

Patrick pulled back. “I can tell you don’t believe me, David,” he said softly. “But that’s okay. We have time for me to convince you.”

David hummed a little and turned himself back over so he could be the little spoon again. Patrick cuddled against his back.

_We have time._

That, David thought, was the nicest thing he’d heard all night. Maybe the nicest thing he’d heard, ever.


	6. Home

David woke up for the second time in two days to the warm press of Patrick’s body against his back. It was the same, but absolutely different, because now he could enjoy it for real, not as a snatched moment of stolen intimacy. Patrick was no longer David’s fake fiancé. He was his real … something.

David felt a gentle press of lips on his neck, and hummed with pleasure.

“Morning,” Patrick murmured huskily, his hands touching and stroking over David’s chest. 

“Morning,” David said. He stroked Patrick’s arm, clasped his hand over Patrick’s hand. Memories of last night came flooding back: the way Patrick had touched him, the way he’d held him when he cried, the way he’d reassured him so sweetly.

David thought about rolling over, kissing Patrick again, but first. “Um,” he said, “So, I have a suggestion. What if we got up very quickly and brushed our teeth and then got back in bed and pretended we woke up that way?”

“Pretend we woke up with naturally fresh breath?” Patrick said. He kissed the back of David’s neck again.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Do you want to start our relationship off on a lie?”

David turned over. “Is that what this is?” he said.

“A lie?”

“A relationship.”

Patrick said, “Yes, David, that’s what this is.” His voice was firm, sure. 

Then Patrick smiled and leaned in like he was going to kiss him, and David decided he didn’t care that much about morning breath after all, and closed his eyes. But then, instead of Patrick’s lips, he felt Patrick clambering on top of him, and not in a sexy way. He kept going, over to the other side and out of bed, and then into the bathroom.

When Patrick came back out, David took his turn in the bathroom too, brushing his teeth and smoothing down his hair. Then he rifled through his toiletries case, and found what he was hoping for, a tiny bottle of lube tucked in the corner. It was not, let’s say, in its first blush of youth, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He slipped it in his pocket. Just in case. No expectations. David was fine either way. Really. But he suspected that Patrick was on board with the brushing teeth plan for a reason, and it wasn’t just practicing good oral hygiene.

David came back out, slipped back under the covers and into Patrick’s arms. “You know, technically, our relationship did start out on a lie,” he said. “The whole fake fiancé thing.”

“Mm, that’s true, I guess.” Patrick said. “But is it a lie if I wanted it to be true the whole time?”

“You did?” David’s eyes searched Patrick’s face, waiting for the punchline.

Patrick said, “Yes, David, I did. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a long time.”

“Wait, really?”

“Actually, I _did_ ask you out, and you turned me down.”

“No, you didn’t. You did? When?”

“Right before we left to come here, when you told me what happened?”

David’s mind immediately called up Patrick, his arms tightly folded, saying, _what do you say we get a drink?_

David bopped him on the chest with his fist. “You didn’t make your intentions clear!”

“It was obvious!” Patrick said. 

“It wasn’t!” David said.

Patrick then proceeded to make his intentions _very_ clear, leaning in and kissing him with purpose. David kissed him back, welcoming the press of Patrick’s lips, the slide of his tongue into his mouth. Patrick was a wonderful kisser—patient, intent, focused. 

Patrick broke off the kiss to move his lips to the underside of David’s jaw. “I love your stubble,” he said, running his fingers over David’s cheek and jaw. “It’s so sexy.”

“Oh,” David said, flushing with pleasure.

Patrick said, “I want to see you. I couldn’t last night.” He put his hand at the bottom of David’s sleep shirt. “Can I?” he said.

David lifted his arms and let Patrick pull off his shirt. Then Patrick put his hands on David’s chest and ran them all over his body, stroking through his body hair. He kept returning to the hair in the center of his chest. He seemed fascinated, and David grew self-conscious.

“I can’t get to a waxer anymore,” David said.

“Don’t you dare wax this,” Patrick said, his fingers gripping the hair. 

“Ow, careful,” David said.

“Sorry,” Patrick loosened his grip, then leaned down and rubbed his cheek against David’s chest, then turned his face to nuzzle against the hair there. Then he said, “I shouldn’t tell you what to do, though. It’s your body, you can do what you like.” 

He sounded so forlorn, though, that David laughed.

“You really like it?” he said.

“I do,” Patrick said. David must have looked doubtful, because Patrick said, “I know what I like, David.”

There it was again: that voice, so confident, so sure; David wanted to bury himself in that voice. He leaned in to kiss Patrick again, and Patrick slid his hands into David’s hair and held him firmly as he kissed him, and David loved that too.

After that it was a tangle of lips and tongue and roaming hands and even more compliments from Patrick about David’s body; they just spilled out of him like they were nothing, until David was warm and giddy. There was more shedding of clothes, and Patrick found the lube in David’s pocket, which seemed to give Patrick lots of ideas. These ideas sparked a brief, heated argument about whose thighs were more fuckable, in which David was absolutely correct, and he set out to prove it. 

“I’m not conceding the point, David,” Patrick said, gasping, even as David was getting himself lined up behind him. “You’ve just got me so distracted—I can’t—”

David said, “Shhh,” as he uncapped the lube with unsteady fingers, poured out a puddle of lube in his hand, and reached between Patrick’s legs and spread it on his upper thighs and perineum and that incredible ass. God. David was just glopping it on; he’d never been this uncoordinated; but whatever, more lube was better, and they wouldn’t be sleeping here again anyway. He reached down to wipe his lube covered hand on the sheet, then thought better of it and wrapped his fingers around Patrick’s cock instead. Patrick let out a groan and said, “God, now, fuck me now, David, please.”

David took a deep breath. He brought his hand back and stroked over Patrick’s ass, squeezing lightly—God, he wished he could write poetry, Patrick’s ass deserved a sonnet or something—and then took hold of Patrick’s hip, bracing himself as he pushed forward to thrust between his thighs. Patrick tightened his leg muscles, and, oh, that was so good, so hot and slick and tight. David pulled back and thrust again, and then again, going slow; then Patrick reached back, grabbed his hip, pulled him in, saying, _C’mon, David, fuck me,_ and David sped up, until he was grinding and thrusting with increasing desperation, too turned on and impatient for any finesse. He felt his orgasm overtaking him, and brought his hand back Patrick’s cock and he bit down on Patrick’s shoulder, and he came in a rush between those fuckable thighs; he managed to keep his hand on Patrick’s cock, loving the feel of him, hot and hard and slick in his hand; as his aftershocks slowed he tightened his hand and jacked Patrick’s cock more firmly; Patrick seemed to have lost power of speech, he was writhing and gasping and making breathless _uh, uh_ sounds as David stroked him, and then he arched back against David and cried out and spilled out over David’s fingers.

David was still floating from his own orgasm as he wrapped his arm around Patrick and held him as he shuddered. He kissed him all over his shoulders and the back of his neck, everywhere he could reach.

Patrick found David’s hand and held it. “Thank you,” he said.

David smiled against his shoulder. “You’re welcome,” he said. “That’s very polite.”

Patrick gave a little huff of laughter. He said, “I haven’t done—I mean, you know I haven’t been, um, out very long. So, I haven’t done this, a lot. And that was—it was—” He trailed off, and squeezed David’s arm wordlessly.

Normally, David would prod for an end to that sentence, but he didn’t. He held Patrick closer, feeling tender and protective. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, and he let it suffuse his whole body, lighting him up from inside. He wanted to stay here forever, with Patrick in his arms.

They had to get up eventually, of course. The bed was basically one big wet spot, for one thing, and they really had to get out of here soon. David said he’d take first shower, and he got up and stumbled to the bathroom on slightly unsteady legs. He’d just closed the door when Patrick knocked and poked his head in to ask for a towel, then gave David his best trollish smile in the mirror as he handed him one.

“What?” David said.

Patrick indicated David’s tangled hair, and said, “You said the sex would have be insanely good for you to let me mess up your hair. So, I can’t help noticing—”

“Go away, you’re such a brat."

Patrick retreated, and David looked at his own reflection. He took in his tangled hair, the post-sex flush in his cheeks, his eyes liquid and dark, the dopey smile on his face. He put his hands on his cheeks, trying to press his smile away. Surely it was jinxing things, to smile this much, to be this happy, on the first day of this … thing. Relationship. 

He dropped his hands, let the smile stay. It was like last night, but today he thought that maybe—he liked the look on his face. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this—nothing probably. Obviously. But, this was the healthiest first day of a relationship he’d ever had, and he resolved to enjoy it, for however long it lasted.

*

After they showered and packed, they texted Alexis. She came to their room and they debated about the best way to get back to Schitt’s Creek. They ended up taking the lifeboat back to shore, and then decided to use some of the money from Klair to rent a car to drive back. Patrick tried to put Larry Air back on the table, but David strongly vetoed that suggestion.

David took the first driving shift, and as he turned onto Hill street, aiming for the highway, he saw the sign for Captain’s Neck, the street they used to live on.

“Oh my God,” he exclaimed. “I just remembered. I met that girl Brittany at the party, that first night—the one who lives in our old house.”

“Are you suggesting we go there, David? I’d really rather skip it,” Alexis said.

“Well, we don’t have to, but she said she had something that belonged to us."

“What? Really?” Alexis said, her tone changing instantly. “Then we have to go!”

“You sure?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t you just, like, wonder forever if we didn’t?” 

David turned the car around to go back to Captain’s Neck, as Alexis chattered. “What could it be?” she said. “Jewelry, maybe? What if it’s my Van Cleef pendant? Or my Buccellati tiara! But, ew, what if it’s that tennis bracelet Dad gave me? Ugh.” She made a face.

David said, “I’d love it if it was your diamond tennis bracelet. We could sell it for cash, since you hate it so much. But really, it’s probably something completely useless.”

Alexis said, “Ooh, like your JC Chasez poster collection! Or your Mariah commemorative plate?”

“That plate was exquisite!” David said, aghast. 

“Sure, David,” Alexis said, which just showed how little she knew about anything.

David pulled up in front of the house. It was surreal, and strange, not to pull into the driveway instead, drive around the back of the house, click the button for the car elevator. They got out, and David stood for a moment, looking at the house, expecting to be swamped with painful memories. It looked—okay. The landscaping was different. More colorful, with a lot more flowers. Which was fine, obviously, if you liked that sort of thing. He’d designed a foliage-focused landscape in shades of green and silver, far more subtle and nuanced. But not everyone could appreciate that.

They went up the front door, and Alexis rang the doorbell. A housekeeper answered. Her eyes flicked over them assessingly, and David nervously smoothed down the front of his Neil Barrett sweatshirt. He said, “Um, we’re here to see Brittany? I’m David Rose.” 

The housekeeper nodded, then left them standing on the doorstep, which, rude.

They waited. David felt nervous. It was strange standing on the doorstep of your own house, not sure if you were going to be let in. The door opened again, and it was Brittany. She was smiling, a polished, social smile, but still friendly. “David! So glad you stopped by. And Alexis, right?”

Alexis held out her hand, palm side down. She had apparently decided regal condescension was the right way to play this.

Brittany shook Alexis’s hand, looking bemused. David introduced Patrick. Then he said, “You mentioned, when I saw you at the party, that you had something you thought was ours?"

Brittany nodded. “Yes, I’ll get it for you. Do you want to come in?”

David glanced at Alexis, who shook her head briefly. He said, “No, I think we’re—we’re okay.”

“Okay,” Brittany said. “I’ll be right back.” She closed the door again.

While they waited, David looked over at the veranda. The restoration he’d done made every line of it achingly familiar, but enough changes had been made so it was all slightly off-kilter. Brittany, or someone in her family, had repainted—still white, but an eggshell shade rather than the bone-white he’d chosen. The furniture was different, of course, and there was more of it, including an outdoor rug, and some plants. It all added up to a slightly cluttered feel, but nothing too egregious.

Patrick squeezed his hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” David said. He gestured at the veranda. “It’s not _exactly_ how I designed it, but it’s—it’s fine. It still looks nice.”

“Don’t you think some faux Grecian statues would really brighten it up, though?” Patrick said.

David gave his shoulder a light slap. “That’s enough out of _you,”_ he said, and Patrick laughed.

Brittany came back out, carrying a medium sized suitcase. David recognized it immediately

He took it, as Alexis said, “What is it? I’ve never seen that before.”

David said, in his best formal voice, “Thank you, Brittany. It was nice of you to save this.”

There was an awkward pause as they all looked at each other. 

“Well, we better be going,” David said finally. “I’m glad, uh, the house is in good hands.”

They said goodbye, and went back to the car. David started the car and pulled away. When he reached the end of the block, he glanced in the rear view mirror. The house looked small, from this distance, and not that different from the other houses around it. It was just one house among many, a nice house in a row of nice houses, no longer special, no longer his. 

*

As they drove, Alexis peppered him with questions about the bag. It was still unopened, on the floor by her feet.

David said, “It’s nothing, Alexis. If I’d known what it was I would have just asked Brittany to throw it away."

Alexis said, “But it’s heavy! What’s in it? Are you sure it’s not valuable?”

“Yes, it’s a briefcase full of gold bars,” he said sarcastically. “All of our problems are solved."

“Ugh, David, you’re being so annoying right now. You can’t blame me for being curious. Why can’t I open it?”

“You can. Jesus. I just didn’t want to be sitting in the car in front of our old house while we did it. Also I need breakfast. Chill.”

Alexis made a frustrated noise. 

David pulled the car in front of the Golden Pear, where he used to go all the time. They had a really good breakfast sandwich here. They all got out of the car, and Patrick said, “I’ll get us food. What would you like?”

David gave Patrick his order and then made him repeat it back, slowly, while Alexis bounced on her toes impatiently.

When Patrick had gone, David said to Alexis, “Okay, you can open it.”

Alexis stood by the open door of the car and put the suitcase on the seat. She unzipped the top and pulled out the contents. Wigs. Hats. Passports. Colored contacts in their cases, probably all dried up now. Flip burner phones, looking ancient.

“I don’t get it,” she said. She had one of the passports in her hand. She opened it, and there was her picture, and the name Angelica Bloomfield.

David said, “This is my, um, Alexis bag.”

Alexis looked mystified. “Alexis bag?” she repeated. “What does that mean?”

David shrugged. “When you called me in one of your, you know, crisis situations, sometimes I had to act fast. I wanted to always be ready, in case—well, I just wanted to be ready.”

“Oh,” Alexis said. She stood there with the passport in her hands, looking down, her hair covering her face.

“Alexis?” he said.

She looked up. “You were wrong.”

“About what?” he said.

“This is valuable.”

David scoffed. “Oh, very funny,” he said.

She said, “I’m actually kind of serious? After this last year of being around people who—” She shook her hair back from her face, looking up at the sky. “It’s just kind of nice, okay? 

“Yeah, I get that,” David said softly, and he did.

Alexis said, “So, I think, um, I’m going to hug you now?”

He rolled his eyes and said, “Fine,” but when she went into his arms, he folded her against him, and it was actually nice, really nice. Even if they were having this moment in public, in a parking lot.

Alexis broke away. She cleared her throat. She looked at the passport again and turned the photo towards him. “Bangs, really?”

“Hey, don’t blame me for your bad hair choices.”

She huffed and gave a sarcastic hair flip, just as Patrick came back with their food and drinks. 

Alexis said, “So. David. I actually have a present for you, too.”

He waved a hand at the suitcase, the wigs, the junky phones. “This wasn’t exactly a present, Alexis.”

“Well, if you don’t want it—”

“I didn’t say _that,”_ he said.

Alexis said, “When I was in Klair’s room, I took something else.”

She rifled through her little purse and took out a small bottle, and held it out to him. 

David took it. He knew what it was instantly, but he still turned it so he could read the label. It was a bottle of Cle de Peau moisturizer.

“What is it?” Patrick asked, leaning over to look.

David’s hand closed over it protectively. He tried to swallow the enormous, complicated emotion that was welling up in his throat. “What, no toner?” he managed.

“Klair doesn’t think she needs it,” Alexis said.

David’s eyebrows shot up.

Alexis rolled her eyes. “I know, right? With that t-zone.”

“Seriously.” David looked at the bottle again. “Thank you, Alexis.”

“You’re welcome.” Alexis said briskly. She turned back to the suitcase and piled all the contents back into it. She walked around the back of the car to put it in the trunk, and slammed the trunk closed with a decisive thump. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” David said softly. “Let’s go home.”

*

A month later, David walked past a very long line of people that extended out from the front door of their store. Many of the people were disturbingly off-brand—one of them even swore at him as he walked past them, toward the front of the line. But this was something to see, here on opening day.

He paused when he got to the front of the store, looked up to savor the sight of the sign over the door.

They had done it. Rose Ap was now Rose Apothecary.

He and Patrick actually hadn’t lost that much time. They were opening only about two weeks later than they had originally planned. David let himself in the front door, and there was Patrick, his boyfriend, waiting behind the register.

 _Boyfriend._ They’d settled on that title last night.

He came around and dropped a kiss on Patrick’s cheek. 

He’d let Patrick talk him into a hard launch, against his instinct to be more cautious and do a soft one. They debated it in bed two nights ago, Patrick making more and more dick-themed jokes about _hard_ vs _soft_ until David was rolling his eyes and laughing helplessly. Then Patrick got his hand down David’s pants and whispered “If we’re going to go big, let’s go _really_ big,” as he stroked him.

“This is not the way to make sound business decisions,” David said breathlessly.

“I think we’ve done all right so far,” Patrick said, giving a few more convincing strokes. “Let’s do it, David.”

“Well, I suppose we _have_ established that I’m the daredevil in this relationship,” David said, arching into his touch.

“You are, you absolutely are,” Patrick said, and kissed him, and kept stroking his cock, and David kissed him back, and felt brave, and came embarrassingly quickly.

They opened the doors to let in the long line of people. Incredibly, it stayed busy all day. The sales racked up. David’s parents came, and his father said _Nice to have another entrepreneur in the family,_ and his mother said, _You’ve created something truly winsome, almost like something I would have created myself,_ which David knew was the highest compliment she could give. Of course Alexis was there, sampling lip balms, upselling customers with gusto, sending David little grins every time she made a sale. They’d been living together in their little motel room for a month now, she was maddeningly messy, found new ways to annoy him every day, and he felt like something had clicked back into place in the universe.

When David closed the door at five o’clock, and flipped the sign to _closed,_ Alexis lingered behind with him and Patrick.

“Well, this was a success,” David said to them both, his toned laced with satisfaction.

Patrick was closing up the register. He said, “Aren’t you glad we didn’t do the friends and family discount? We’re twenty-five percent richer than we would have been.”

“You know, gloating is very unattractive,” David said, but he couldn’t help smiling.

Alexis said, “Well, I’d say it all turned out for the best, didn’t it, David? Even with that whole … thing.” She fluttered her fingers. Very dismissively, he thought. But he was prepared to be broadminded here.

“You did manage to contain the damage,” he said.

“No, I’m saying it worked out _better_ for you this way.”

He frowned. He thought about how Alexis wouldn’t be here, if they hadn’t. But still, she had played fast and loose with their business, and that should not be encouraged. “Mm, I don’t think so,” he said.

Alexis said, “Think about it. If you and your button-face hadn’t done your adorable little fake fiancé act, you wouldn’t be together right now. You’d still be mooning after each other, yearning and pining, wondering how the other one felt. Like today, you’d be celebrating the opening with a sweet little hug, and you’d hold each other all close, hoping the other one would make a move—” She mimicked what this would look like, holding an imaginary person, sighing, her face filling with longing.

“Shut up, that’s not true,” David said crossly.

Alexis ignored that. “So. I’m just saying. You’re. Welcome,” she said, and leaned over to boop him on the nose.

Patrick grumbled, “I would have definitely asked David out by now.”

“Of course you would have,” Alexis said, obviously humoring him. She booped him on the nose too, for good measure. Then she said, “Do you remember what else was today?” 

David shook his head. He looked at Patrick, who shrugged.

Alexis took out her phone and showed it to them. David saw some people in bathing suits, on the beach. “What am I looking at?” he said.

“David! That’s Kendall and Drake. This is the Kardashian’s Fourth of July party. In Mykonos, remember?”

“Right,” he said. He recognized them now. He’d been so busy working on the opening, he’d forgotten it was the Fourth of July. 

“And guess who is _not_ there,” she said gleefully.

“Really?” David said. “Klair didn’t go?”

“Nope. Uninvited. Albany just told me Klair flamed out in a _spectacular_ fashion with Kylie’s makeup line launch. Turns out you can still screw up a lot with only ten percent of the work left to do.” Alexis called up Instagram. “So _here_ is Klair’s post from today.”

David looked and saw Klair holding up two fingers and doing a fish face to the camera, holding a little American flag. The caption said, _Fun Fourth at Guy Fieri’s!!!_

David laughed. “Mm, wow. That’s so sad.”

“What choice did she have, though?” Alexis said. “She has to figure out her post-Kardashian life."

“She doesn’t have to post it all over Instagram, though,” Patrick said.

Alexis gave Patrick a look. “Have you _met_ Klair?” She gave her phone one last satisfied look, then tucked it away.

Patrick came around the front of the counter and slid an arm around David’s waist. David leaned in to his touch. Patrick said, “Should we go grab some dinner, celebrate a successful launch? Alexis, you want to come?”

“Oh, I’d like to, but I have a date.” Alexis gave a little shimmy. “His name is Ted? He’s like, super cute. If I’d known there were guys like that here, I would have moved here a lot sooner.”

Patrick whistled and David rolled his eyes. Leave it to Alexis to get a date with the hottest guy in town—present company excepted—within her first month here.

Alexis said, “Also, David? I was looking at the community college in Elmdale, and they have a degree in public relations.” 

“That’s great,” David said cautiously. Would Alexis see that as a comedown? “Isn’t it? Is that what you want?”

Alexis fiddled with her earring. “Yeah. But I think I might, um, finish high school first? Does that sound crazy?”

David smiled. “It doesn’t sound crazy,” he said. 

Alexis gave him one last smile and took herself off, and David watched her go. His sister, ready to take on the world. He closed the door and turned to Patrick with a sigh.

Patrick said, “Congratulations, David.” He held out his arms, and David slid into his embrace. He still felt a little thrill that he got to do this. Patrick turned his head and said low in his ear, “I’m glad I’m not still pining and wondering how you feel.”

“Me too,” David said. He glided his hands over Patrick’s back, enjoying the feel of his shoulder blades, his muscles shifting under his shirt.

“Your sweater is so soft. I’ve been wanting to touch you all day.” Patrick ran his hands all over David’s zebra-striped Saint Laurent sweater, which he’d worn for just this reason. Patrick said, “Having all those customers was the worst.”

David laughed, and then Patrick’s lips were on his. David relaxed into the kiss, looping his arms around Patrick’s neck, feeling a languid warmth steal over him. Patrick’s hands crept up under the bottom of the sweater in the back, seeking bare skin.

“I’m all sweaty,” David said, half-objecting.

“It’s the sweat of hard work, David. You put in the blood from your heart, and the sweat from your—” he trailed his fingers along the top of his waistband, “your back, and you made Rose Apothecary sing.”

“Okay, what—” David said. Where had he heard that before? Then remembered. Sebastien, on the yacht.

“I’m sorry, should I not joke about him?” Patrick said, his eyes softening with concern.

David stroked Patrick’s shoulders, meditatively, mentally poking at the bruised place that Sebastien occupied in his head. It still hurt, a little bit, but not as much. Not nearly as much. He said, “No, you can. He—he is kind of a joke, isn’t he?”

“He definitely is,” Patrick said.

David stood still for a moment, letting that thought sink in. Then he abruptly dug his hands into Patrick’s shoulders and crashed his lips onto his. Patrick made a surprised noise but met the kiss with equal fervor, opening his mouth eagerly, pulling David closer, pressing more tightly up against him. _I’m not a joke,_ David was thinking feverishly, with a wild kind of joy, and he kissed Patrick again and again. _Sebastien is, Klair is, but I’m not._

When David drew back, Patrick’s eyes were starry. “I’m going to compliment your work ethic more often,” he said.

David pouted. “Oh, fine, make fun of me."

Patrick caught David as he tried to pull away. “I wasn’t joking. You have worked hard. This is all you.” His arms were occupied holding David, so Patrick gestured with his chin to indicate the store.

David said, “We’ve _both_ worked hard.” He ran his thumb over Patrick’s perfect bottom lip, a little swollen from their kissing. He said, “Babe, we made our dream a fucking reality.”

“We fucking did,” Patrick murmured, laughing, and pulled him close to kiss him some more.


End file.
